No Means to Use the Stove
by retkula
Summary: COMPLETED When a Muggle woman breaks up with a wizard, there is no need for her to remember the magical world anymore, is there? Will Charlie Weasley Obliviate his ex-fiancee?
1. The Stove

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made. Rowlings'. Just an angsty idea that needed to be shared.

My very first attempt at fanfiction and I am not a native speaker of English, so treat me nice.

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**The Stove**

Anna Richardson stared at the stove with an expression of utmost dislike on her face. Nevermind it being an old fashioned looking piece of kitchenware, she could have coped with carrying wood and getting smoke in her eyes, but that _thing just....refused to work at all. Not for her, that is. Nothing she could do would change it. Only people with special talents could use that stove. Literally. _

Anna was used to being confident in everything she did, especially in kitchen – she had, after all, started to cook for her family as a nine-year-old when her mother had died.  She could do all household work marvelously: she knitted and cleaned and baked and sewed like a little efficient machine.That was her talent, that determined who she was. She was an accomplisher, a provider, one who took care of everybody and everything.  

But now, here, in her fiance's family's house, she was useless, unable to do anything at all.

Here all her skills were nonexistent. They had no importance whatsoever. And during the few weeks she had spent here, Anna had come to think neither had she herself.

The stove stood in its place, unmoved by the silent tears of the tall, usually self-confident woman in front of it. 

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When he had told her his big secret, she hadn't believed him, of course not. When he had shown her, she had been delighted. She was an astoundingly sensible and practical woman herself, yes, but she could appreciate the excitement of learning that not everything made sense and that there were more in the world than met one's eyes. For a while the revelation had made her feel carefree and happy in a childlike way. The fairytales were true! Anything was possible! And she, plain old Anna Richardson, had been let in to this exhilarating secret, had been given this thrilling opportunity. 

But it had all been a hoax. In this world, like in this kitchen, she was merely an observer – no, a voyeur – one with absolutely no means to participate in the actual action. They all treated her nicely enough, that was true. His mother had been warm and welcoming, his father keen and friendly and their other children enthusiastic and helpful. Helpful being the operative word. 

She needed help all the time. She couldn't use the public transport systems, she couldn't do gardening, the postal services didn't acknowledge her, she couldn't even get the lights on, for Heaven's sake! And she couldn't use the stove. 

She just hadn't it in her. The magic. 

His mother, Molly, had smiled when she had offered to help her in the kitchen. "Oh, dear, you don't have to. It's just so much work in your way." Then she had flicked her wrist and murmured a few Latin words and pots and pans had started to cook by themselves and she had smiled again. "I simply can't understand how you folks manage without magic. It must be so hard, my dear."

They all did that. Treated her like a child who couldn't do the simplest of tasks and should be overly praised when occasionally succeeding in something. Or like some fragile, rare specimen that couldn't be burdened with mundane work. When Molly finally had given in and let her help in the kitchen, she had found herself doing simple things, ones that a mother would give a toddler to do, so that the child would be happy and feel needed. Anna had seen she wasn't needed at all, actually she probably just slowed Molly down. She hadn't offered her help since.

They didn't mean it in an offensive way, no. She had been told, apologetically, that some wizards did view muggles - people without magic, that is - as an inferior species, but his family, the Weasleys, weren't like them. Actually, their opposite opinions were so well known it had gained them an offensive title: "_the muggle-lovers"._

"And that we are, especially me!" he had laughed and kissed her soundly. She had just giggled then and loved him so much. There had been no worries in the world. It had happened only two weeks ago. Now that time seemed like an eternity away.

She had thought he knew her, she had thought that to love her, he simply _had to know her. Apparently she had been wrong. He seemed to believe they would settle down in his world, she would settle down being helpless and useless and emotionally and physically handicapped._

Wiping her tearstained face with her sleeve, Anna Richardson (who would never be called Anna Weasley) went upstairs, gathered her suitcase from under the bed they shared (Molly had let them sleep in the same room, "As you are to be married, dears"), and packed her clothes and other possessions. 

She moved around silently, so that she wouldn't wake him up, but she really shouldn't have bothered. He had been used to sleep through anything, probably because of his youth spent in the dormitories at a boarding school or sharing a room with his brother. He hadn't stirred when she had got up before six am. and he didn't stir now.

She knew she was being a coward. She knew he would deserve an explanation. She knew she should speak to him in person. But she couldn't. Not when it hurt so much to leave. He could convince her to stay. He would only have to look at her. She could imagine the wounded, confused expression that would rise on his face. She wouldn't bear it and she wouldn't be able to hurt him. Not when she loved him so much.

She had never really loved anybody before and maybe she never would again. She was almost thirty years old and he had been an unexpected miracle in her life. But she couldn't live as an observer in her own life and she couldn't be just an ornament in his. She needed to be needed, needed to be self-sufficient. She needed to be herself again. Even if it would mean being alone. 

He probably didn't even really love her, she was just something new and exiting. He would find a better match. Someone from his own world. He would have done so eventually, anyhow. This way she only speeded up the process.

"Dear Charlie", she wrote with a pencil she found in the bottom of her handbag. "I'm sorry. This just won't work. Please don't hate me, but don't come after me. I'm sorry. I really am. "

The stove stood in its corner, unmoved, as the tall woman with a suitcase left the Burrow.

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There. Thank you for reading. That was probably just a one-shot, only something I found myself wondering one day. But if you would like some more, let me know. You know how. Anyway, I would appreciate comments as this was my first try at fanfiction. Thanks.


	2. Merciful Oblivia

disclaimer: Not mine, except Anna. No money made.

a/n: I wasn't going to continue, but this just struck me as the logical next step. Many thanks for my one and only and thusly very precious reviewer, snuggle the muggle. Had you wondered about this, too?

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**Merciful Oblivia**

Anna closed the door after her and lowered her suitcase on the floor of her one-bedroom apartment. She removed her shoes and her coat and with a fluid continuation that seemed like a well rehearsed act, picked up the suitcase and moved towards her bedroom to unpack it. She wanted it to be final. She wanted to put everything back to its place and start her own life again at once. 

She didn't make one unnecessary motion as she swiftly opened the suitcase and moved around the apartment organizing everything. Dirty clothes – in the laundry basket. Toiletries – in the bathroom. Returning from the bathroom – take a plastic bag form the kitchen for trash. Trash – that was the first time Anna stood still since her return from the Burrow. 

She had a candy wrapper in her hand. It wasn't an ordinary wrapper - it wasn't an ordinary muggle wrapper, that is. For a wizarding wrapper it was perfectly normal. It changed color every second and the writing: WWWTongueToffee pulsated in a slow rhythm on its side. That was why she had kept it. That and the memory of Charlie's enormous all-the-time-growing tongue. 

She had a suspicion he had eaten the candy knowingly, to amuse her and his brothers' children. He must have had enough experience of their fathers' jokes to recognize the candy. It had been a sweet gesture. She chuckled. If salivating on your fiancee with an over-grown tongue hanging from your grinning mouth ever could be considered sweet.

Anna shook her head, angry with herself. No time for memories, now. The question was: did she want to remember later? Should she save the wrapper, and his letters and the photos she had taken? She would have to hide them, of course. She wasn't supposed to tell anybody about the wizarding world....

Then she realized something and froze. Maybe she hadn't got a choice. Maybe she couldn't decide herself whether she wanted to remember. Maybe – not maybe. Definitely.

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_"Hey, Charlie, what would you have done had I yelled FREAK and ran away?" she said teasingly leaning against his chest._

_"Well...I suppose I would have had to Obliviate you", he grinned and wrapped his arms loosely around her._

_"Obliviate...oblivia..you mean you can make me forget things?"_

_"Sure. What would you like to forget?" he laughed and then became serious. "No, it's a very risky business, Obliviating someone. One should never do it without a solid reason. There can be all kind of complications...and things."_

_"Why it is used then?"_

_"Well...you know we can only tell about us if the muggle in question is going to become a part of our world", he kissed her forehead, "like you. Otherwise it would be a huge security risk. You know, people running around yelling FREAK and such."_

_"So only the muggles that are part of your world..."_

_"Our world", he interrupted._

_"_Our_ world," she continued, even though it somehow didn't sound right, " are allowed to know about it."_

_"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor!"_

_"There are no muggles in Gryffindor if I understood correctly earlier", she replied sarcastically and carried on: "How about breakups?"_

_"What?"_

_"Breakups. Say we would break up, would I be allowed to remember you?"_

_"Silly girl. We won't be breaking up", he kissed her shoulder._

_"But if we were", she insisted, "There must have been "inter-species" relationships that have ended badly. I'm certain your administration won't let it's policy of secrecy be ruined by some bitter muggle woman..."_

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At the time they hadn't finished the conversation because he had kissed her again on the shoulder and on the other shoulder and on the neck and on the lips and then she hadn't been able to talk sensibly anymore and he had probably done it deliberately to avoid answering and now she knew the answer. 

She would see Charlie again. Charlie or one of his brothers, but in all likelihood he would come himself. He was a decent person, after all. He would take care of his own errors. If she would have to have her memories stolen, he would do it himself, to be gentle.

Anna glanced at her watch. It was only nine am. On Sunday he would sleep late. Molly wouldn't wake her visiting children before ten. She had at least two hours, maybe even more.

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Hmm...I guess I'm not finished yet. So maybe I'll continue.We'll meet Charlie in the next chapter and hear Molly's opinions of the woman that has nerve to dump her son.

 I hope my writing isn't irritatingly full of mistakes as I don't have a beta or even a decent correction programme on my computer. 

Reviews are highly appreciated.


	3. Empty Wardrobe

disclaimer: once again, not mine.

a/n: Thanks for my second reviewer, mugglegirl. This thing just seems to go on angsty. I am mostly focusing on the cultural differences of the muggle and the wizarding world and the problems that those could cause in a relationship. In this chapter you see more of the canon people. I hope that their reactions feel believable to you. Thanks for reading.

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**Empty Wardrobe**

"Mmrrrmm..", he groaned in leisured satisfaction and reached for the other side of his magically enlarged childhood bed. His hand met only the mattress, as the other side of the bed was empty. He sighed, disappointed, but then chuckled. His girl had done it again. Crept out of the bed early in the morning to help Mum in the kitchen. As if Molly needed any help. But that was Anna for you. She just couldn't keep away from the household work, or any other work done around her, really. She was unable to watch people do tasks without offering her help.

It was quite adorable, really. Especially when it was such a load for her, without magic. In a way, Charlie had to admire her. If he himself had been forced to live as a muggle, he would had only eaten out, or then those frozen meals or something. There was absolutely no way he'd ever even try to cook in the muggle way. It was like a nightmarishly lengthened Potions class with no other results than normal food. Deep down, Anna had to be pleased that she didn't have to do things the hard way any more. He was there to help her, and was going to be there for the rest of their lives.

Grinning happily, Charlie Weasley got up, grabbed his towel and went for a quick shower before breakfast. It was nice to be home at the Burrow again. It was nice having finally told Anna about magic and introduced her to his family. It was nice of them to come to spend some time here, together, and make her feel welcome. 

Fred and George had come, with Alicia and Angelina and their pair of twins, Ron had come with Hermione, Ginny and Harry were here with their daughter... they all were here. All that were left, that is. Charlie didn't want to think about Percy and Bill. The war had ended six years ago, he didn't want  to think about it now. Instead, he focused on thinking about his living siblings. 

Funny, how all the others had married their schooltime sweethearts. He was the only one who had met his mate somewhere out of Hogwarts. Charlie grinned again, this time with a hint of manly pride in his smile. He had found the best of them all, and a muggle on top of it. Quite an adventure,  falling for a strange muggle....but he had always been an adventurous man. The sound of the shower mixed up with the cheerful whistling of one Charles Weasley, an adventurous man of the world.

Still whistling, Charlie returned to his bedroom, stepped into his trousers, grabbed a pair of socks from the cupboard drawer and opened the wardrobe to find clean robes. It was only then when he realized something was amiss. The wardrobe seemed...different. That is, it seemed emptier than in the previous evening. It took Charlie only a blink of an eye to take in the fact that all Anna's clothes were missing. She wouldn't have taken all of them to be washed at the same time, would she now?

Charlie felt dizzy. He _did _know what were the implications of the situation where one found his fiancee missing along with all of her clothes. He just didn't want to believe she had left him. Really, why? They hadn't argued or anything. He had thought everything was fine. Everything had been fine, hadn't it?

Charlie coudn't help feeling nauseous. What did he know about women? He had had his fair share of casual girlfriends at Hogwarts, but that was a lifetime ago. After that, he had been in Romania with the dragons and no women in sight. And then there had been the war. And anyhow, all he did know about women was about witches. What if female muggles were just constructively different from the wizardkind ones? Weren't the muggles all the time divorcing each others and such? Maybe it was a muggle custom, just to leave your partner without an explanation if you suddenly got bored of them.

Nausea was replaced by frenzy. She had just left! Without even a....then he saw the note. 

Only a heartbeat later, bare chested Charlie Weasley stood, a crumpled piece of paper tightly in his fist, facing his family that were seated around the kitchen table, eating breakfast.

"What did you say to her?" he demanded, barely controlling his voice.

"What is the matter, son?" Arthur rose from his seat, worried by his sons agitated state.

"What did you say to her, to make her leave?"

"Anna, has Anna left?" her mother rose as well and  moved to his side.

"Yes! Yes she has left!" he yelled, "and I want to know why!"

"Well you bloody well can stop shouting at us and start thinking about what have you done to upset her yourself", that was Ron, of course.

"Ron, watch your language. And Charlie, won't you sit down and calm down. You are scaring the children", Hermione stated sedately.

"Kids, come with me, and we'll finish our breakfast in the garden. We'll have a picnic, won't that be fun?" Angelina effectively gathered her own twins as well as George's and Alicia's and Harry's and Ginny's little Lily and shepherded the children towards the door.

The moment the door closed behind them, Charlie banged his fist on the table. "Why did she leave?"

His family was silent. His mother shifted uncomfortably and his father swallowed. The sound of the swallow echoed loudly in the silence. Finally, it was George that spoke, in a manner surprisingly soothing for a Weasley twin:

"Charlie, mate, I really think you would know that better than us."

Charlie felt numb as the last hope abandoned him. If it wasn't them, it had to be him and Merlin help, he couldn't see what had he done to make her leave.

"Hey, it can't be that bad, bro. All you got to do is go to her and crawl a bit and say you're sorry. It doesn't even matter if you don't know what about", it was Ron again and without noticing the disapproving look his wife sent him, he continued with his experienced marital advice: "It's just a brawl, you know, those come and go."

"We didn't fight", Charlie sighed, "and she doesn't want me to go after her." He dropped the crumpled note on the table and leaned his head on his hands. Molly picked the note and read it.

"Well, I _say!" she exclaimed then with righteous anger for her son, "To leave one's fiance like that and without any reason whatsoever!"_

"Don't know about her reasons", mumbled Charlie from behind his hands.

"Well, doesn't say anything about them in her note," Fred offered, "and one would think she'd said something to you before making such a drastic move."

"Obviously she didn't really love you in the first place, the ungrateful _wench_", his mother tiraded disregardless of the surprised glances her choice of words collected from her children, " must be a muggle thing – no offense, Hermione, but their lot _do_ regard relationships more lightly than we do, isn't it so?"

They all looked at Hermione, who seemed uncomfortable. Charlie rose his head to hear the answer as it was something he had pondered himself.

"Well, I guess it's partly true. Muggle world, at least the western muggle world, does have quite a free dating culture. According to the statistics, the approximated time for a serious relationship or a marriage to last is only two and a half years."  Hermione glanced apologetically at Charlie. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Hush, love, it's not your fault", Ron kissed her forehead, "and it's not a muggle thing either, Mum, it's a cultural thing."

"Nevermind", Charlie murmured, "two and a half years...well, we had eight months. I guess it makes us slightly less than average."                                                                  

"Charlie, " Ginny opened her mouth for the first time since he had come downstairs, "are you sure the situation is that bad? Shouldn't you just go and ask her what is the matter."

"Yes", Harry agreed with his wife, "it must have been hard for her, to suddenly be dropped into a totally different world."

"Well, she could have said something, couldn't she?" Molly hadn't calmed down. Seeing her oldest living son so miserable had really gotten to her. She had waited for so long for him to settle down and now this. "The girl seemed perfectly fine to me until she all of a suddenly decides to pack her things and abandon us!"

"She really seemed to love you though, son." Arthur patted Charlies shoulder in an uncertain manner.

"Well, I suppose she doesn't anymore. And no, Ginny, Harry, I'm not going after her. She asked me not to. If she doesn't want to see me anymore, I won't torture her with my presence." With those words Charlie got up and moved towards the staircase. His family watched him go.

After a moment of silence, it was Harry that spoke: " I don't want to be rude, but if it really is over, he still has to see her for the one last time."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, but her father nodded solemnly.

"Yes. Maybe he should wait for a while, if they can work it out,  I mean. If they can't, it has to be done."

"It's the Ministry policy, although it seems a bit harsh to me."

"I have never approved of it", Hermoine sighed.

"What?" Ginny asked again.

"Neither have I, but it's the law", Alicia agreed with Hermione.

"_What!?" Ginny exclaimed, frustrated._

"Charlie has to Obliviate her."

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next chapter: Charlie and Anna meet. Stay tuned! And please, do review. I just realized, by the way, that I had accidentally demanded registration from my reviewers. That wasn't my intention and from now on, you can be anonymous as well.

I don't care if I don't know you/                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

as long as you do review/                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                so, please, please, please so do!

constructive criticism is also very welcome


	4. Preserving Memories

Disclaimer: not mine, just having a bit of fun.(Do I have a morbid sense of humour?) I also want to express my debt for all the fanfiction writers that have had influence on me. Thank you. If you recognise something, it doesn't belong to me.

a/n: It was a very nice surprise to suddenly get so many reviews, especially as I considered this little story mostly as an English exercise for myself. I guess now I have to finish this. Regardless of the extra work you have thus caused me,  I am very grateful to all of you. Special thanks to BIW, who corrected some of my mistakes. I am correcting my previous chapters as I go along so I appreciate comments on errors. For those of you that are hoping for Charlie and Anna to get back together, it won't happen yet. Maybe it won't happen ever. I don't know, as I haven't written even the next chapter yet. You just got too keep reading to find out.

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**Preserving Memories**

Anna wrote furiously on her computer. She didn't know exactly how the Obliviate spell worked; maybe it would cause something like a light amnesia and the memories would stay buried in her mind. If that was the case, she would just need something to remind her, some strong stimulants, and she would gain all of her memories back. But if the spell worked more profoundly, if it really would destroy all her memories of the magical world permanently – in that case she would need exact details, on every single thing.

Only a moment ago, Anna hadn't been sure if she wanted to remember. Even at the present time, she wasn't sure if she wanted to _reminisce her relationship with Charlie. But by God, did she want to make the decision herself! No one was going to steal her past._

And so she wrote, trying to capture all the essential facts: the zoo they had met for the first time, their first dinner together, the exact words Charlie had used when he had told her about the magic, her first impression of the Burrow, the reasons she had left....and then it struck her. It wasn't enough to write down the facts. She would have to describe the emotions, too. Her emotions.

Memories weren't about facts. They weren't only about what had happened and when. Memories consisted of feelings, sensations, impressions, tones, flavors. They held traces of touches, of impacts. How could she preserve those on her computer?

She couldn't, and she knew it, but still she wrote, although she could already feel inside her the empty space the soon-be-removed memories would leave behind. She felt like crying but she didn't. She wrote instead. How had it felt when he had kissed her for the first time. How she had been exhilarated and simultaneously hideously jealous, when she had first seen them fly. How she had missed her own mother when watching Molly and how she had fervently hoped that she, too, could became one of her children. How she had, helpless, stood in front of the stove.

She didn't want to analyze those feelings. They were too recent, too raw to be poked with the cruel stick of logical apprehension. They were supposed to be left alone for an appropriate time before they could be handled in any cognitive way. But she didn't have time, appropriate or any other and so she wrote.

She didn't know why she was so sure he would Obliviate her. It was, after all, an unethical, horrid act. "Risky business", he had said himself. Alternating one's memory, deliberately  violating one's person and personality, that wasn't like the Charlie she knew. Especially when he loved her. Or had loved her. Or had at least _thought that he loved her._

Memory charms were immoral and Charles Weasley was a man of high morals. But he was also a man of great loyalty who had a strong sense of responsibility and the most important of his obligations were the ones for his family and for his Magical society.

Anna had heard stories of their war, she knew about his brothers that had been casualties in it. She could understand the tight loyalty, the need for security, the almost-paranoia it had left behind. Their community had survived a great danger that had risen from amongst them, they didn't want to deal with any dangers from outside. And she was a danger from outside. A security risk.

Even if Charlie could trust her to keep their secret, he had to be loyal to his family. The magical administration had given him a permission to let her in their arcanum for the specific reason that they were to be married. When the information of their breakup would reach the bureaucrats – as it most certainly would – they would regard it a serious negligence, maybe even an offence of law, had she not been Oblivated by then. And that would cause problems not only for Charlie, but for all of his relatives, especially Arthur, Ron and Harry that worked for the Ministry.

Therefore, it wasn't only a vague feeling that left Anna certain that he would come. It was a calculated and carefully analyzed high probability assumption.

Anna saved the files on her computer harddrive along with the photos she had taken with her digital camera while at the Burrow. She scanned the few letters and notes Charlie had sent her and saved them as well.  She didn't think the Weasleys would understand enough of the computers to search hers, but to be sure, she sent the files to her other computer at work, as well. Then she concentrated on the actual, solid proofs she possessed of the existence of the wizarding world. She knew she would need them. She wasn't an easy person to convince, even if the convincing would be done by such a dependable person as herself.

She suspected the wizards would clean not only her mind but also her apartment of everything magical, so she gathered together all the magical items that had been left in her possession, spread them on the floor in front of her and tried to determine which of them she could keep without them noticing.

There was the candy wrapper. Surely they wouldn't miss it, it was only a piece of trash. She placed the wrapper on the floor beside her and continued. The Weasleys had given her several wizarding photos after they had witnessed her fascination for them.She  picked up one of Charlie and herself. In the photo Charlie grinned towards the camera and then wrapped his arms around her in a slightly possessive manner. The wind tousled his hair and the grass around their feet bent in the breeze. Every now and then a bird would fly through the background of the picture. She alone stood motionlessly in her place.

They had been astonished about it. "How come she doesn't move? Even the birds do!"  "Have you ever tried to take a picture of a muggle before?" "She repels magic, mate!" They had laughed and wondered and she had laughed with them, secretly humiliated and disappointed and once again feeling as an outsider amongst them. Still, she wanted to keep just that photo. It would remind her, not only of Charlie and the magical world, but also of the reasons why she couldn't have carried on, why she had had to leave. She placed the picture with the candy wrapper.

She swiftly chose also a book about magical society, its customs and history she had bought on their visit to the magical London (she had to hope Charlie wouldn't remember the book) and a set of robes that had enchanted embroidery on their fabric. She had bought several of them in the Diagon Alley as well, trying to fit in and please Molly. Even if many of the younger and muggle-born witches would use muggle clothes, she had felt she couldn't. Being a muggle she had had to try harder, to show them all she was ready to be a part of their world, that she would cope, that she would at least look like them. She snorted sarcastically. She sure had succeeded fantastically when even their cameras could identify her as an intruder.

She hurriedly stuffed the chosen items into a plastic bag and threw the others on the top shelf of the bedroom cupboard hoping it would look natural that she kept all of them there. Then she pulled her shoes on and ran, coatless, to the street and to the nearby railway station. She placed the plastic bag into a storage locker for luggage, grabbed the key and ran back to her apartment. 

She pulled off her shoes, sat down on her bed and waited. And waited. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly one o'clock and he wasn't there yet. Maybe the decision hadn't been so easy for him, after all.

It was then that the doorbell rang.

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Sorry...I did promise they would meet in this chapter, but this just seemed like such a dramatic place to stop. I will update soon and then we'll see some questions, accusations and explanations.

In the meanwhile, feel free to review. Criticism and opinions opposite of mine are also very wellcome.

P.S. It's probably illogical and maybe anti-canon that birds would move in a wizarding photo and muggles wouldn't. The idea just struck me as a nicely angsty symbolic vision. Can't you just see the picture?


	5. Things That Have to Be Done

Disclaimer: Again, not mine. Rowling's and then I'm probably also snatching ideas from all over without  realizing it. 

a/n: Thank you for your reviews! Now we'll see if he will Obliviate her...

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**Things that have to be done**

_It was then that the doorbell rang._

She had been waiting for it and still it surprised her. She froze for a moment. The doorbell rang again. Without truly realizing her actions, she got up , moved to the door and opened it.

"Hello, Charlie", she said. It wasn't like she didn't  recognize her own voice, it just didn't feel to be  coming from her mouth. It was like she would have been two different people at the same time. The other walked steadily and talked calmly and coldly and coherently while the other...just watched, not making even a slightest motion. She focused here gaze, not on his eyes, but on the brink of his nose. It would seem to him that she confronted him, though she in fact would be safe, not seeing him at all. She concentrated on the wrinkle in between his eyebrows and was secured by that action.

"Hello."

There was a moment of silence. The other Anna relished in it and pondered analytically what had caused it.The other just waited, still not moving, for him to speak. Eventually, he did.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong. Come back. Don't leave me. I love you." 

He had said all the important, all the necessary words, and Anna still wasn't satisfied. Neither was the other her. For a moment there she had been all herself again, one whole person, and looking at Charlie she had seen his love and desperation and sincerity and she had almost  broken down. But then she had realized that she had seen something else too, something in the corridor when she had opened the door. There had been a glimpse of something. A glimpse of something of an Auror. 

Charlie hadn't come by himself. He had come with Harry. Or with Ron. It didn't really matter which of them was with him. To beg her to come back, he wouldn't have needed Aurors. To Obliviate someone, a member of official personnel was probably required.

She should have known it at once. There was something that made them very similar, him and her. He would have never begged the woman who had rejected him. Neither would she have begged him, had he left her. They wouldn't have "fought for their loved ones", no sir, they both would have just left at the first indication that the other loved some one else or didn't for some other reason want to be with them any more.

They called it pride. They called it being self-sufficient and only wanting love when it was as freely given as it was received. Inwardly they both knew that as much as it was all those things, it was also a proof of their secretly low self-esteem. It was a wonder they had ever even come to begin their relationship in the first place, when any small act from the other could have been interpreted as a wish to break it up.

No, people like her and Charlie,  they didn't come to ask for explanations. They were perfectly capable at creating masses of those in their own heads. Therefore, he wasn't here for the reasons he had presented, never mind how much she would have liked to believe his words instead of the hard facts.

And because Charlie, according to this logical line of thought, wouldn't have come here on his own, his words – his beautiful, meaningful words – had only been a way to avoid the guilt. He didn't really mean them, he just wanted to do the decent thing, to give her one last chance. To give_ himself_ one last chance, really. Charlie didn't want to be the villain of their story and Obliviating her would certainly make him one. Maybe she should help him a bit, maybe she should ask for it, she thought, amused in a weird, detached and bitter way.

"I know why you are here", she heard herself say. "Won't you just do it, please." 

"What are you talking about?", he asked, too suddenly, and she knew that he knew that she knew.

"Stop beating around the bushes, Charlie", she said and her voice sounded dull, " We both know you are here to Obliviate me. We muggles don't have the right to remember, do we now?"

He stared at her, dumbfounded, scared, astonished. _He didn't think he would have to do it to some one who knew_, she thought and found herself oddly content for the obvious fact that her knowledge caused him discomfort. She wanted to distress him, if only to gain some control over the situation. 

"Before you do it, I would only like to know how exactly does it work", she continued flippantly. "I mean, it has been eight months since we met, three weeks since you told me you were a wizard. How do you perform the "risky business" of Obliviation without totally messing up my brain?"

Charlie stared at her. She discussed it like it would have been a totally normal procedure. She didn't want to talk about the reasons for which she had left him, she didn't beg him not to Obviliate her. She just stood there, looking him in the eyes with a vacant expression in her own, and waited for him to answer. 

Charlie didn't know what to answer. He wouldn't have come at all had it not been required, that was true. He was here to Obviliate her, that was true as well. But seeing her stand there, in the threshold of her apartment, had made him forget his pride and fear for rejection for a moment. He had truly meant what he had said, when he had begged her to come back. Merlin help him, for a fleeting moment there he had even been grateful for Ron's advice, ready to use it! But she wouldn't come back to him. She would rather be Obviliated than even talk to him. She really wanted to get rid of him. In a sudden thrust of anger he answered her shortly and matter-in-factly, in almost a harsh manner.

" It would be too dangerous to wipe out all of your memories from such a long time frame. You'll remember our relationship as it was until I told you the truth. Only your memories of my appearance are to be changed, so that you won't recognize me if we'll meet again by chance. The last three weeks..." Now his voice trembled barely noticeably. "Hermione proposed that we should replace the memory of me telling you about the Magical world with me telling you about being already married. She reckoned that would be a believable reason for you to leave me." 

He stayed silent after those words and felt slightly nauseous. That was the best plan they had been able to create, but it still wasn't a very good one, in his opinion. He would still have to molest the mind of his loved one, she would still suffer.  She would hate him....even if, in her memories, he would look different . And she hated him at the present time. He looked at her, grimacing, and expected her to yell at him, to show her hatred fully now, when she still had the chance.

 Instead she said: "How very considerate of you. Please, remember to thank Hermione for me. I won't be able to._ Remember, I mean."  She sounded almost sincere, but knowing her, he didn't miss her sarcasm. And she was totally justified to feel bitter and sarcastic, he knew.                                     _

The other thing he knew was that now was the time when he should have raised his wand and said the spell. But he couldn't. No matter how coldly she acted or how illegal it was not to Obliviate her, he couldn't do it.

"Would you get on with it?", she said. She couldn't take it much longer. She couldn't watch him standing there, freckles shining their innocent, clueless glow on his slowly paling face. How did those freckles seem to have a life of their own, she caught herself wondering and her eyes, on their own will, followed the small, brownish spots on his face until she deliberately stopped them. She had to hurt him and fast, to make him stop hesitating, to keep her own decision standing, to prevent her other self from taking action. And she even _wanted to hurt him, wanted to scare him, so that he would never come back and she would never have to love him again._

"I don't care what you have been scheming with the know-it-all. I would rather forget all about you. Do it, and then you can heal your own broken heart with your pensieve. Isn't that thing just for that? To make sure you_ wizards don't have to feel anything? That you don't really have to remember anything?"_

Charlie stared at her, surprised at her attack. His wonder angered her further.

" Stop staring at me! No one has Polyjuiced himself to be me! I can be angry and mean and vicious all by myself,  if there's a reason to be. And you can't say there isn't, now!"

"Anna, please, I don't want to do it. Please, come back with me! Then I don't have to Obliviate you." He sounded whiny even in his own ears.

" Great! What marvelous choices you present me! Back to being an useless ornament or then a lobotomy! Come back to me or lose your mind! Or is it so that I should suffer being with you just to protect you from having to be cruel?"

"Lobo-  what?"

"Never mind!" she practically screamed. He had to do it now or she couldn't keep the facade up any longer. "Just do it!"

"I can't!" he yelled back.

""You have to!"  Suddenly she went to the door, opened it and asked the empty corridor in a perfectly calm manner: "Don't you agree, Harry?"

It had only been a guess. Lucky guess, she gathered, as Harry Potter dropped his shield of  invisibility and came in.

"Make him do what he has come here to do", she commanded the Boy-that-had-Beaten-the-Evil. "You are familiar with the things that have to be done."

As she said it, she saw an almost unnoticeable wince on Harry's expressionless face and deep inside her, the other her regretted hurting him. But she couldn't show her regret. She couldn't show any weakness at all, she couldn't even feel any weakness, or she would be ruined. 

"Are you sure it is over?" Harry asked her.

Yes", she answered without looking at Charlie. She wouldn't let her love ruin her. She couldn't go  back.

"Absolutely sure? You won't be able to change your mind later."

"Yes. I know." She didn't look at Charlie, but she looked at Harry, straight in the eyes. Harry's shoulders tensed, but his voice was still calm as he addressed Charlie without turning away from Anna.

"Charlie, you heard her." Charlie didn't answer. "If you don't do it, I will, and as I don't know all the memories I should be removing, it could cause quite a mess."

Harry and Anna both turned to look at Charlie expectantly. He didn't stir. He didn't look at either of them. He hardly seemed to breath. Then Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Anna. He opened his mouth. At the same instant, Charlie draw his wand and charged  towards her. Harshly he yelled: 

"_Obliviate!" _

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a/n:  Well, he just had to do it, hadn't he? Were all my carefully built dramatic tension would have gone, otherwise? Once again, I really, really appreciate your reviews! It's so much fun to see that some one out there is actually reading my angst on angst. (and correcting my mistakes – thanks!)

I hope you bear with me for some more of angst, as I simply can't figure out how it could turn nice and happy all of a suddenly. I wish you don't feel it should? (And furthermore, I rather like writing angst...maybe I find consolation in the thought that I myself have it quite nicely, at least in comparison to fictional characters ;) In the next chapter we'll probably see more of Charlie. And later, I might reveal some of the memories Anna wrote down – who will be the one reading them? Will her precautions work? I haven't decided yet.


	6. What Are the Pensieves For?

Disclaimer: Don't own it. If you recognize something, it probably isn't mine.

a/n: Many, many thanks for my reviewers, especially snuggle the muggle, who gave me advise on italicizing (among other things). I also wanted to thank knitter for quite a funny comment considering chapter 4 and of course Cinderella1 and gabriel for reviewing every chapter (!) And thanks to all the others! As I have now realized, from personal experience, how much reviews help the writer from not breaking under his/her own uncertainty, I have even left behind my old bad habits of not reviewing and started a new, better life as a at-least-sometimes-reviewing-reader. And it's all your fault ! J

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**What Are the Pensieves For?**

He hated Harry when he listened as he went through all her things, looking for anything magical. He hated him when he found her books and wizarding photographs and the letters he had written her. He hated him even more, when he watched him covering her sleeping body with a comforter. He hated Harry. Just hated him.

His hatred for Harry didn't achieve its primary goal, though: he still hated himself more. 

She slept on the sofa and one could have imagined it was normal sleep. He couldn't. He had seen her eyes after he had uttered the spell. There had been first a flicker of understanding and fear and pure horror and pain and then there had been – nothing. Only a vacant, distantly baffled expression with no personality whatsoever. Then Harry had thought it best if she slept a bit. 

He _knew Obliviate didn't wipe out one's personality, only the requested memories. He had used it often before. It was necessary at times. Still, he had never had to use it on someone he knew. He had never had to use it for removing such a many memories from such a long time frame. And more importantly, he had never had to use it because of his own actions, because of his own mistakes._

And so he hated Harry.

"Ready to go, Charlie", Harry stated impassively. He hold Anna's digital camera in his hands. "Don't know how it works. Better get Hermione to look at it."

He nodded without a word, moved towards the door and apparated to the Burrow. He hated Harry.

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He didn't go back to his own apartment in Hogsmeade. He went to the Burrow. It wasn't because of the company, as he really didn't want to see anybody. He just wanted to stay in his room for a while. In his and Bill's room. In his and Anna's room. Except that they were both gone. Now it was just his room. His alone.

He wouldn't have to go to work next day. Maybe he wouldn't go back at all. Maybe he would return to Romania instead. He had left his career with the dragons when it had become clear that the war would arise. He had went through a shortened Auror-training and fought with the Order. With Bill and Percy.

After the war there had been so much to do. So many wizarding homes were destroyed, almost all of Hogsmeade was in ruins, Diagon Alley had suffered greatly. He had never been smashing in Charms, but he had an eye for building things and in the reconstruction of the British wizarding world, all able hands and wands had been needed. He had learned on the way. 

A civil war in a small, tight community is never easily forgotten. Their one had not been an exemption. It had concerned everybody and the wounds had healed painstakingly slow. Now, six years after the war had ended, the Magical society was slowly recovering. The houses were standing erect, new babies were born, people had started to forget. Marriages were formed....Anna was not going to come back. She couldn't come back. She didn't remember him.

"Charlie", his mother called him softly from behind the door, "you haven't eaten anything. Please, darling, do eat something."

Reluctantly, he opened the door for Molly. She came in, lowered a tray on the desk beside his bed and – didn't leave. Instead, she sat next to him on the bed. 

"Charlie", she said slowly and almost timidly, "I know you are in pain, and I know this sounds cruel to you, but...maybe it was better this way."  He startled, but she put her hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying anything and continued: "I don't mean I would have hoped for this to happen or that I would be happy that you are so miserable. It's only that...had you really thought about it? What would it be like to live with a muggle, to marry a muggle, to raise children with a muggle?"

"I thought we were muggle-lovers, the whole lot of us", he managed to say through his teeth.

"We are, dear, we are. I am not saying that muggles are somehow lesser people than us. And there's certainly nothing wrong in marrying a muggle-born _witch. I am only talking about the reality, the way it would have _been_, your life together." She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before carrying on: "A marriage should be an alliance of equals. Marrying a muggle would be like marrying a foreigner knowing that she would never be able to learn our language. Imagine a situation were something would happen with the children and you wouldn't be at home. She couldn't alarm St. Mungos, she couldn't heal them herself, she couldn't apparate to get help. And how about when the children would began to show their magic? You know yourself how it was with Fred and George. Had I not been quite an able witch, Arthur would have come home every day only to find  total chaos and disaster. There are only so many marriages between a muggle and a wizard for a reason, and the few functioning ones are usually those were the couple lives exclusively in the muggle world."_

"I could have done that!" he exclaimed.

"Could you, really, my dear? Could you really have left behind your whole life, your career, your _magic_? Could you really have lived as a muggle, learning everything from scratch, being all the time dependable on others? If you could have done it, why did you plan buying a house from Hogsmeade, then? Why did you bring her here?" She looked into his eyes and he couldn't bear her inquisition but lowered his gaze.

"For a muggle, living as a wizard is like living half-life, like being severely handicapped."

"Is it the same for a muggle, to live as a wizard? Did she feel like that?" This time it was Molly that lowered her gaze. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"I don't know, dear, I don't know", she whispered at last. Then there was a silence, suffocating silence. She broke it, finally, got up and stated: "Anyhow, it's over now. She doesn't remember. Please, eat something. And maybe you should use this." She dropped a light object on his lap, hugged him a little awkwardly and left the room closing the door silently behind her.

He looked at the little, round object on his lap. It was a pensieve. Not a _real pensieve, but a second-rate one. They had become quite popular after the war. At first, pensieves had been used as evidence. From a pensieve, everything could be seen as it had happened, all the events and actions could be carefully examined. It worked well enough until someone realized that only the most objective person in the world could have memories without any personal interpretations on them. They could use the pensieves when analyzing the actual occurrences, but when it came to deciding whether an expression of total malice on someone's face in someone other's pensieve could be a standing evidence of the first person's bad will...well, let's say it just didn't  work._

But the people who had placed the memories of the horrible events they had witnessed in the pensieves, felt better. Nobody wanted to remember, to _really remember all the atrocious details of the war. Who would have wanted to relive their children screaming under Cruciatus, their parents, their husbands, their wives, their...brothers dying monstrous deaths? The memory that a pensieve left behind was only a pale shadow of the original one. The sounds, the feelings, the smells, everything that made the memory painful, was safe inside of the pensieve._

That was when the Magical government established the Public Pensieves. It was, after all, totally futile to suffer from one's memories when there was work to be done, reconstruction to be performed. People used the Public Pensieves, sure they did, but it was still a bit embarrassing, to be seen to use one. It was like visiting a psychotherapist in plain view of all your friends and co-workers. Therefore, the home-pensieves became extremely popular as soon as they were released on the market.

They weren't real pensieves. You couldn't be sucked inside the memories that were stored in the home-pensieves. The home-pensieve only _showed you the memories, when you wanted to see them again. It wasn't detailed, it wasn't accurate, it didn't look real. It was exactly what people needed._

Some had even begun to use their pensieves as necklaces or bracelets. They would use them when ever a painful memory struck. Even when ever something that could possibly _cause _a painful memory happened.

Charlie felt the pensieve on his palm and remembered what Anna had yelled at him. _"Do it, and then you can heal your own broken heart with your pensieve. Isn't that what those things are for? To make sure you wizards_ don't have to feel anything? That you don't really have to remember anything?"__

Slowly, he placed the pensieve on the desk beside his bed.

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Will he use it? You don't know if you don't read...

Well, there it was again. Please, correct my mistakes if you notice them and comment if you feel something is amiss or stupidly expressed. In the next chapter, we'll see whether Anna's precautions worked. Will she remember? What will she remember? I don't know yet.

Remember: **Reviewing keeps your writer healthy.**


	7. Mail from Me

Disclaimer: still not mine and no money made, only weird satisfaction gained

Hello, hello…here we go again. (I guess I should do something more useful with my life...:) I am enjoying writing this, though, especially when you let me know that you are reading. Thank you again so much for your reviews. Vampera - I'm glad you liked the first chapter, hopefully you'll like this one, too. Gabriel - sorry, you won't see yet whether Charlie will use his pensieve or not. Beppo1 – here you go: Anna waking up:

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**Mail from Me**

Anna opened her eyes. Her head felt heavy. She was lying on her living-room sofa and – she glanced at her watch – it was quarter to four in the afternoon. She couldn't recall why she had been sleeping on her couch in the middle of the afternoon. In fact she couldn't remember _going_ to sleep on the couch in the first place, either. 

She had to be ill. She felt her forehead, but it didn't feel feverish. So, she obviously had been ill, ill to such degree that she didn't recall her own doings, but then she had slept, and the rest had helped and her temperature had dropped back to normal. That was logical, wasn't it? 

It just felt so damn weird.

The last thing she remembered…the last thing she remembered….was _Charlie telling her that they weren't going to see his family because he was married already and it had all been a lie and then  she had yelled at him and left him standing there, in the middle of the park._

So it was the shock, the reason why she couldn't remember. They had planned to go see his family and she had taken a month's holiday from her work. But they hadn't gone. Instead, he had told her there was something important she had to know about him. As the memories flooded back, Anna tensed, readying herself to feel righteous anger towards him. She expected to feel livid, or then desperately miserable. On the contrary, she felt distantly indifferent. Like the memories didn't mean anything, like it all had happened to someone else or ages ago.

But it had happened this morning, hadn't it? The moment the thought appeared in her mind, she found herself contradicting it. _It was three weeks ago_, her brain insisted. Three weeks! How come it was her last memory, then? Suddenly, as if answering her silent question, her memory felt like…stretching itself and she abruptly recalled spending three weeks inside her apartment, being miserable, not telling anyone what had happened and mourning over her lost relationship with Charlie.

Anna shook her head vigorously. She _must_ have been ill. Really ill. She could believe being miserable after leaving Charlie, because, after all, now that she thought about it, she felt a constant, throbbing pain over losing him for ever. But being miserable and doing nothing else than being miserable for _three weeks?_

That just didn't seem right. Had she been herself, she would surely had done something, talked to somebody, worked on something. She knew her usual means to survive the unfair blows that life gave were to work night and day, rather than drown herself in self-pity. She must have been really ill.

Her illness was the only explanation for the fact that she still couldn't remember what exactly she had been doing, while wallowing in self-pity in her apartment, all alone, for three weeks. She didn't remember eating, or going to bathroom, or watching television, or answering the telephone or…

Hurriedly, Anna got up, snatched her purse from the nearby table and rummaged it to find her cell phone. It wasn't on. She switched it on, dialed the PIN-code and checked the last calls - only to find that she hadn't made one single call in the last three weeks. She didn't give up, though, but listened the message she had recorded on her answering service: _Hello. This is Anna Richardson. I'm on a holiday and unfortunately unable to answer your calls for the next month. Please, leave your messages for me on my e-mail address anna.richardson@niceparty.uk and I'll contact you on 12.8. when I'll return. My apologies for the inconvenience this causes you._

She had locked herself up in her home pretending that she was taking a holiday?! She really must have been very, very ill.

Now, at least, that kind of pathetic behavior was to be over and done with. She moved to her computer and started to check her e-mail. The latest mail she got had been sent today, by…_herself?_ Well, at least it had come from her personal e-mail address. Intrigued, Anna opened the mail and found there was no message at all, only several large attachments, seemingly both text and photos. She clicked on the text-attachment titled: extremelyimportantreadnow! and started to read:

_Anna, this is me, or you, or I am you or…fuck the grammar, I'm in a hurry. The point is: you don't remember writing this but you did. You remember, or I don't know how much you remember, but you don't remember some things considering the man you, or me, dated for the last eight months. I don't know if you remember him at all, so if you don't, the thing is that you dated a man named Charlie Weasley…_

Weasley? Charlie's surname was Wesley, wasn't it? Though it didn't sound any more familiar than Weasley, Anna's brain confirmed it was the right name. Well, that was probably just a typo. She read on:

_…and you loved him, more than you have loved any other man ever and probably more than you ever will love anyone after this. The last three weeks you stayed in his family's house, but you left this morning…_

What? Who had sent this? Without her consent, her eyes returned to the screen:

_..when you left him. Before I tell you why you left him or why you don't remember everything, I'll better remind you that this really is me, or you, writing this. You know no one else knows the password for your personal e-mail address that I used to send this mail._

Well, that _was true. And she didn't remember everything clearly. Maybe she had tried hypnosis on her depression or something and had written this mail as a precaution._

_Ok, now it comes, the big shock. I know you don't believe it right away, but I can prove it. Charlie and his family are wizards. You left him because you couldn't fit into their life and now they have wiped out your memories of them so that you won't jeopardise the secret of there being a magical world beside ours._

Yes, sure! Anna snorted. Maybe she had written this while _under hypnosis on then while having really high temperature. Well, at least this was a much more entertaining reason for leaving a man than him being married to an other woman._

_Yes, they are actual wizards. If you open up the other attachment, you'll see pictures of them, flying around on broomsticks –_Anna had to laugh –_don't laugh!- and doing all kinds of other magic. The pictures have not been manipulated in any way, but because I know you won't believe it, I have more solid proof, too. In the pocket of your jeans is a key for a locker in the railway station around the corner. There are some items that cannot have been manipulated in any way known to me. Just do believe yourself, will you!_

Anna clicked open the other attachment. One by one, pictures started to appear. There was a bunch of red-haired people, grinning widely, in front of the oddest house Anna had ever seen in her life. Who ever had planned this joke, had done a thorough job. The house looked like it _needed_ magic to stand erect. And the people in front of it who, by their looks, could have been Charlie's family, were all dressed up as wizards and witches, except for the small children. In the next picture the same people _were flying around on broomsticks and who ever had done the manipulation had done a marvellous work with it. _

The third picture really caught her attention as there was she herself! She was tenderly kissing a red-haired, unfamiliar man and she couldn't distinguish anything in the picture telling her how the two people had been manipulated together. In the side of the page were a few lines of text. Beside the first picture it said: _The Weasleys and the Burrow. Arthur,his father, Molly, his mother, George and Fred, his twin brothers…Anna skipped the explanation of family strings and read the line next to the kissing picture: _Anna and Charlie caught kissing by Hermione.__

That wasn't Charlie! He looked a bit like Charlie, yes, he too had red hair and was stockily built, but otherwise it was all wrong. Charlie's nose was shorter and his shoulders were wider and his hair was darker and his chin was rounder and…why was she kissing this strange man, then? She went back reading the letter and searched for one particular sentence there.

_They have now wiped out your memories of them so that you won't jeopardise the secret of there being a magical world beside ours..._

Could it be that they hadn't wiped out all of her memories, just replaced them with different ones? Making slight changes on Charlie's appearance and last name so that she wouldn't recognise him? Anna didn't know what to believe. The letter sounded impossible and ludicrous, but it also sounded like _her. And if it was written by her, today, and she didn't remember writing it…well, that in itself was a proof of there being something truthful in this more than weird explanation. Furthermore, the other option wasn't any easier to believe: that she had locked herself up in her house for three weeks and done nothing and didn't remember accurately even the nothing she had presumably been doing. _

And, though she didn't want to admit it, believing that Charlie was a wizard was much less painful than believing he was married to someone else.

Anna felt the pocket of her jeans. It didn't even surprise her, when her hand caught a small key. She looked at the silver key with a number 22189 on it and rose. She left the computer on, grabbed her shoes, pulled them on and in a resolute manner, walked towards the door and the railway station around the corner.

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Well, Anna's condition will apparently take more time to write and to develop than I originally thought it would. As she didn't suddenly get her memories back, it will be pretty difficult for her, with two set of memories in her head, both placed there afterwards. In the next chapter we'll go back to see Charlie, anyhow. Stay tuned! And I can't resist:

_If I may, I'd like to put on display some limping poetry, hardly meant to stay in your minds for long:_

_As there are so much more possibilities for rhyming_

_in the English language than in Finnish_

_I ask this way: speak up! and stop the meaningless miming_

_in front of the screen when feeling reviewish_

_Halt! Dont finish, but grant me my wish on this!_

_You can be ruthless unless you're truthless_

_I couldn't ask for less when not asking nothingness_

_so please,review!_


	8. Dealing with Pain

disclaimer: still not mine…

a/n: Well, this time I'm really updating soon...I should be working, but as I am stuck with the book I am dramatizing, I use this little fic as an excuse not to work. Shame on me! 

It's so nice to have you faithful reviewers there, waiting for next chapters! Snuggle the muggle, gabriel, cinderella1 and Beppo1, thanks again! And naturally, thanks for the others that reviewed, too (p.s. buggirl, in this fic the main reason behind the pairing of other Weasley-children is to make a difference between their choices and Charlie's situation). In the beginning, this was supposed to be just a short story and now it seems to go on and on...weird, but what can I do? Here you go: did he use the pensieve? Read on and find out:

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**Dealing with Pain**

With mixed emotions, Molly Weasley watched her son eating his breakfast. Her eyes followed his hands as he cut sausages into small bits, gathered a pile of scrambled eggs on his fork, pierced a piece of sausage and lifted the load into his mouth. His hands were tanned and freckled and there were old scars and still older burns on them. They were hands of an adult man, ones that had been used, strong and competent, and still she couldn't help viewing him as her little boy.

They were all adults, her children, but whenever they were suffering or in trouble,  she found her motherly instincts exploding into action and she would do anything, _anything_ to keep them out of the harms way. She had seen enough pain, she didn't want to see any of them being hurt ever again.

That was why she had been relieved when Charlie had come down the stairs this morning. He hadn't been joyful, like during these last weeks, no, but he had seemed composed and serene. He had smiled a little, bent down to kiss her on the cheek and whispered softly:"Thanks, mum", as he had placed the home-pensieve on the kitchen-counter. Molly was happy he had used the pensieve. People might think he was tough and strong, working with dragons and fighting in war, but she knew her son better. Emotionally he was anything but tough and she hadn't been sure whether he would had coped with yet an other painful memory.

She was relieved, and she was disappointed as well. A small corner in her mind cherished the ideal of romantic love and as necessary as she felt the pensieve in this case, she had to admit that effectively dampening one's memories of the lost love wasn't very romantic. Furthermore, she really would have liked to see Charlie settle down, even with a muggle. He was the only one of her children that still lived alone. She didn't want her children to be alone and unhappy; was there ever a mother that did? If only he would now find himself a nice witch. Silently in her mind, Molly promised herself she would do anything to help Charlie find her, if only to repay him for the way she had been forced to hurt him when telling her opinions about marriages between  muggles and  wizards.

She didn't take her gaze away from Charlie, but from the corner of her eye, she could see her other son and his wife. Hermione obviously didn't have mixed feelings about Charlie's desicion to use the pensieve and she wasn't very subtle about it. It evidently took all her self-control not to say aloud the thoughts that anybody could clearly see on her face. Hermione didn't like the idea of handling relationships with the aid of memory charms and pensieves. She had announced many times that it was too easy, that people, nevermind if they were wizards or muggles, were to _deal_ with their emotions, not to dispose them like something redundant and mildly irritating. In any other circumstances, Molly might have agreed with her. Charlie, however, was her son, her oldest living son, and he didn't need any more pain in his life.

That was why Molly rejoiced in her mind when Charlie swallowed last bits of his breakfast, rose and announced that he was leaving for work. Her joy was cut short, though, when Hermione rose as well and declared that she was coming along. 

"Our new office is in the same building as your head-quarters, so we'll be bumping into each others quite a lot, from now on."

In any other time, Molly would have been delighted. She loved it when her family spent time together and she was happy that all of them got along so well with each other. At the moment,  though, she could see that Charlie wasn't looking forward to spending more time with Hermione. But he couldn't do anything and neither could Molly. She just watched as they disapparated, together.

"Poor bugger", Ron sighed, "I don't know if it's more horrible not to use the pensieve and deal with the memories or to use it and deal with Hermione."

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_Why did she have to come along? _Charlie found himself repeating in his mind while preparing to disapparate. Everything had gone fine. Mum hadn't said anything, Dad had left for work already, others had returned to their homes in the previous evening. But then, Ron and Hermione had come down. He had known it right away. He had seen Hermione was ready to launch into an opinionated lecture about him and his unacceptable behavior. He knew she still was. He really could do without it, today of all days. She didn't know everything, even if she thought so herself.

_An other thing I could do without_, he thought as the moment he appararated in the hall of the building he worked, he saw two of his co-workers approaching. There was nothing wrong with them, really, today they just made him feel so..._old_.

"Welcome back, Charlie!", Dean Thomas greeted him, smiling broadly, "We thought you'd come back next week! How was your holiday?"

"Anna took one look of your family and ran, eh?" Lee Jordan punched him playfully on the arm.

Charlie winced. "Well, actually..."

"Out with it, mate! I bet Fred and George made her feel at home!" Lee chuckled.

"We broke up", Charlie stated abruptly. 

"Ouch. Sorry, mate. Open mouth, insert foot, that's me", Lee grimaced apologetically. 

"I'm sorry as well, Charlie. From what you told, I thought you and Anna suited well together", Dean paused for a moment, "...but you never know. And it's harder with muggles, you know."

"I guess", Charlie managed to mutter, but he would have liked to yell that he didn't know, that he hadn't dated anyone else for years. Dean meant well, though. He just didn't understand. During the eight months Charlie had worked with them in his team, Dean and Lee had dated more women than he ever. It wasn't such a big deal for them, one break-up.

"Hey, Charlie?" It was Lee again. Couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Apparently he couldn't: "If you broke up, then you had to Ob her, didn't you?"

"Yes", he answered through his teeth, hoping he would get the message. Dean seemed to.

"Oh. I'm really sorry, Charlie."

"Hey, it's not so bad!" Lee still didn't get it. "I wish the _witches I dated wouldn't remember me! It would really have saved me from some pretty awkward situations! Which reminds me, have you heard the story about this bloke that dated a muggle and had to Ob her, when it didn't work out? Well, this bloke, he didn't give up. I guess he was really ugly or otherwise desperate, but anyhow, he picked up that same muggle girl again and again. And it _never_ worked out!He had to Ob her so often he got his wand taken away for a while, in the end! Can you believe it? I mean, I could start trying to get it on with muggle women by showing them some _magic_ and then just Obbing them afterwards, but I would take a different bird every time, eh, get it?"_

"Shut up!" Charlie had listened enough. He had tried not to listen, he had tried not to open his mouth, he had tried to understand it was only humor, but he couldn't anymore. "SHUT UP! DO YOU HEAR ME?! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Lee stared at him dumbfounded and only now he seemed to realize what he had been blabbering. Embarrassed, he muttered something inaudible and fled the hall. Dean followed him after apologizing once more, looking a bit scared. Charlie trembled. He was suddenly exhausted and didn't know if he could take one step forward. He could feel everybody looking at him. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? Then he felt a hand on his arm and Hermione whispered something and started to walk him away from the hall. He let himself be led along the corridor into a small, tidy  office. Hermione sat him down on a chair, shut the door behind them, cast a silencing and a sealing spells on the door and kneeled beside him. At first she didn't say anything.

"You didn't use the pensieve, did you?" she then said softly. It was more like a statement than a question.

That did it. He couldn't control his emotions any more. Uncontrollable sobs broke through and he didn't even try to stop them. His breath wheezed and his heart felt like crunching into a small, rapidly pounding knot. He didn't care who saw him crying. He _wanted _to cry, damn it! It felt like something had had a vehement hold of  his every muscle and all of a suddenly they were let loose. Tears were pouring down his face and his nose was running a marathon.

"S-she a-agreed with you" , he finally spoke, still sobbing and violently blowing his nose on the handkerchief Hermione had conjured. " S-she said pensieves were dangerous, that w-we would lose our humanity when u-using them carelessly. She said p-painful experiences taught us to be b-better people."

Slowly, his sobs weakened and he started to laugh, choking on his almost hysteric gaggles. Hermione conjured an other handkerchief and he grabbed it, waving it in the air, like a flag, still laughing.

"I asked if we were better people when in pain!" he shouted, jumped up from the chair and hit his fist in the mantelpiece, hard. He gasped in pain, hit anew, then looked at his bleeding hand and started to laugh again. "I don't feel any bloody better! Maybe bloody, but not better!"

Hermione watched him, almost frightened, until his laughter slowly weakened and he collapsed on the chair, trembling. Then she uncertainly placed her hand on his shoulder. She felt she should have said something, but for once, she really didn't know what to say. At last, Charlie looked at her and smiled weakly.

"Thanks. Sorry if I frightened you. I just...I don't even know what good it does if I remember, when she doesn't. Oh, Merlin, I  shouldn't have done it! I don't even know for sure why she left!"

"Maybe...", she started, without knowing how to continue, but she didn't have to, as Charlie interrupted her:

"Maybe I should do like the bloke in Lee's story? I don't think so. I had her. I lost her. I have no one to blame but myself. I can't start playing around with her or anybody else. She's not some toy." He wiped absentmindedly his bloody knuckles on the hem of his robes. "But I guess I could find out at least..." He went silent and rose abruptly from his chair.

"Find out what?" she asked.

"Do you know where I could find Seamus Finnigan nowadays?"

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Well, well, well...did you think he had used the pensieve? I got you there, didn't I? And why is he asking after Seamus? You'll see. In the next chapter, though, we got to get back to Anna. 

As the first bit of my limping poetry was properly appreciated, I don't  even try to resist the temptation:

_I know, my friends,                                                                                                                                         _

_ as this chapter ends,_

_that you can't desire_

_for anything higher_

_than to give me some praise, _

_or blame - both ways_

_of acknowledging my story_

_are fine - so shame or glory_

_give me,too_

_and review!_


	9. Accepting the Unreal

Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made

a/n: Thanks to reviewers, as always! Snuggle the muggle and gabriel – thanks for your tips! x-woman1  and mugglegirl – maybe, maybe... **And for all of my readers: please, read the a/n in the end of the chapter, as I would like your opinions on something**! And now, I am skipping important work again in order to present you: Anna and her memories:

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**Accepting the Unreal**

She hadn't opened the plastic bag yet. She just sat there, staring at it. Part of her fervently hoping it would all be true, that there really would be something so inevitably _magical_ in the bag that she wouldn't have any other possibility than to believe; part of her only wishing she could be perfectly normal again, with ordinary memories – with _all of her ordinary memories._

Gingerly, she ripped the bag open at last and let it spill its contents on the carpet. On top of the pile, there was some sort of cloth. It was deep blue and there were...Anna gasped aloud and dropped the cloth. Something had moved on it! She looked at it, astonished. Delicate, golden embroidery was sewn on the fabric and the needlework shifted and shimmered and changed shape and form on its own. It had to be one of the most beautiful artefacts Anna had ever seen and still it somehow appeared...frightening.  She cautiously picked the cloth up and realized it was a robe of the same kind that the people in front of the odd house had worn in one of the pictures that had been sent to her by e-mail. She wondered whether she herself had used the robe. It seemed the right size.

There was also a small, leather bound book called _The Magical Community – Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place. _A book. Regardless its peculiar title it looked normal and safe enough and so she opened it - and found moving pictures! It shouldn't have been so strange; she saw moving pictures all the time: television, computer, animated cartoons, holograms... The moving pictures in this book were different, though. There was nothing even reminding her of technology or electricity in the way they moved.

 The people in them waved at her or only glanced at her and then turned back to do what ever they had been doing. It was like they were living inside of the book and seeing her, too. And the book's pages were parchment-sort of paper and there was nothing indicating hidden microcircuits capable of creating the animated images. She leafed through the book, reading  chapter titles like: _Muggles – Treat or Threat,  The History of Ministry of Magic,  Werewolves and Community, Timetravel and its Consequences, Quidditch and its Importance, History of Broomstick-flying or _International Magical Cooperation._ Half of the words were incomprehensible to her._

_Historu_

Not really comprehending her own feelings, either, Anna observed the other items in front of her. They weren't many. There was a strange-looking heavy coin that had spidery words _One Galleon_ engraved on it, a solitary candy wrapper that changed its color all the time, and lastly, a photograph. There was the same red-haired man that she had been kissing in the picture in the e-mail. And there was she herself, again. It was a moving picture, like in the book. She lifted the photo very near to her eyes so that she could properly scrutinize the man. He smiled at her as if recognizing her and his brown eyes were warm. She felt a sudden warmth inside her and he didn't look so unfamiliar to her anymore. She smiled back at the photo feeling a bit silly. Then she realized something she hadn't noticed before: she didn't move in the picture.

She remembered the e-mail: _you left because you couldn't fit in their life._ The warmth inside of her left her. She had been hoping the e-mail would be proved true. She had been hoping there were intriguing and romantic secrets waiting for her to reveal them. She had been hoping like one hopes for something they know is impossible. It's easy and safe to hope for the unreal. You can imagine all kind of wonderful things and forget about the reality and dealing with actual problems. But what do you do when unreal becomes reality and dreams and hopes reform themselves as actual problems?

Anna didn't know. She didn't know whether she should have been exhilarated or scared. There was only one thing she _did_ know: never mind how impossible it sounded, Charlie was a wizard and magic did exist.

Anna didn't know. She didn't know how she should feel, she didn't know what she should do. Then she remembered someone who did. She went to her computer and opened anew the e-mail letter she had received.  She would consult a very reliable source – herself.

_Please, please, read this! I'm counting on your curiosity if not on anything else. Hopefully, the items I hid were still where they should have been and you now believe me_, _but even if he found them and took them away, I really beg you to read on._

"I am reading!" Anna exclaimed aloud, frustrated. Now that she had decided to learn what had happened, she wanted to get on with it. Suddenly, she felt very anxious over not remembering every little detail. She had been dating a_ wizard, she had visited __magical world, she had seen __wonders and she didn't remember a thing! Her eyes couldn't move fast enough on the screen._

_It all begun in the London Zoo. I was  there watching the lions and I talked to them as I thought I was  alone..._

She remembered that! She had been sympathizing with the animals about their too small cages when he had suddenly answered her from behind her back. Those were memories she already had! What about the lost ones? Those were the ones she needed, now! She impatiently pushed the keyboard again and again, skipping the familiar memories. Then she stopped. These memories should have been familiar, but they weren't:

_He is not so very tall, but it doesn't seem to bother him, not even when I am on high heels and he has to tilt his head a tiniest bit to look me in my eyes. Most men are intimidated when the girl is as tall as they are, but he isn't. I guess it's because he is so strong otherwise. Even if we are of the same height and I'm not a small woman,  he can just pick me up into his arms like I was  a little child. I used to like it, but after we went to the magical world, it sometimes  irritates me, because there I was forced to feel incompetent and weak so often._

_His eyes are my favorite part of him, that and his hands. He has the warmest of eyes! It's almost as they radiated warmth and when they turn cold it's like someone had turned the heat off. His hands are warm too, and rough and big. I like it when he holds my hand and I can feel really petite  and feminine, as at least something about me is small in comparison to him. His hands are full of old scars and burns. He has worked with dragons – they do exist! – and fought in the wizarding war. There are hard calluses on his palms and little white scratches on his fingers. Even his fingertips are hard. It's a wonder, really, how he can be so tender when he touches me with those hands!_

Anna picked up the moving photo that she had found in the plastic bag and looked again at the man in the picture. She tried to place his face on the memories she had about Charlie. The Charlie she remembered was taller than her and had green eyes instead of the brown ones that looked at her from the picture. He had long fingers and scarless arms. She closed her eyes and attempted to replace the wrong memories with the ones she now knew were real. She tried to remember his hands holding her. She concentrated in feeling how he had caressed her, how his fingers had felt on her bare skin, how his mouth had felt against hers... And she remembered. He had changed the way she remembered his _appearance, but he hadn't been able to change the way her body remembered his._

She closed her eyes anew and focused on the time she had felt his face in the dark with her fingertips. She had touched his features lightly, like a blind person wanting to create an image of someone they couldn't see. In her mind, she returned to that unseen image and slowly, her memories started to connect with the man in the photograph. She could remember touching that hair, stroking those shoulders, caressing those arms. She remembered the feel of his muscles under her hands and the way his lips curled up kissing her shoulderblade.

 Suddenly she felt almost unbearable sadness over losing him and not being able to touch him anymore. Her skin could feel the empty air around it like it had been something cold and concrete surrounding her. She had taste of cry in her mouth and she felt tears beginning to form. She scorned herself for only crying because of self-pity, because of feeling lonely. There sure were better reasons to cry. She swallowed the tears and forced herself to read on:

_He led me to a small, deserted park and looked so serious I was certain he was going to tell me something horrible, that he was going to break it up with me. I sat there, on the bench, and couldn't even look at him, I only waited and waited, scared and cold to my bones. He sat down beside me, made me look into his eyes and stated, very soberly: "Anna, I am a wizard." He trembled when he said it and looked like he would have expected some enormous reaction from me or, I don't know, maybe from the surrounding shrubs.  I only watched him, relieved that it hadn't been anything serious and a little bit annoyed that he had made me so frightened over a joke._

_I said so much to him and then he was annoyed as well and took a long, wooden stick – yes, I knew right a way it was a wand, I've read my share of fantasy novels – from his packsack and waved it a bit and muttered something. A bouquet of wild flowers appeared out of nowhere. He smiled smugly and I was delighted and told him I hadn't known he knew magic tricks. "Tricks?" he asked bewildered and I launched into an long  explanation of a magician I had once seen performing some amazing illusions. He jumped up from the bench then and interrupted me, almost angrily: "I said I am a wizard, not some muggle tricker! Watch this!" And then he transformed the bench into a live lion that felt like a lion, fur and all, and he made it rain from the tip of his wand and he disappeared with a "pop" and appeared again on the other side of me. The spell that finally convinced me was when he opened his packsack and it was full of tiny, diminutive little clothes and things, and he changed them back to his clothes and books and other things. There must have been three suitcases worth of stuff in that one little packsack. No wonder he could travel light!_

Anna read on and on. She read about all the wonders in the Diagon Alley, about his family and how they had so warmly welcomed her, about their war that he and his friends and brothers had fought in. She read how he had smiled proudly when he had seen her in her wizarding robes for the first time and how his mother had hugged her, tears in her eyes, when they had announced their engagement. She started to feel really stupid over leaving him. Why? Why, if he loved her and she loved him and everything had been so wonderful and she had been accepted and embraced into this warm and affectionate family? Surely not moving in their photographs hadn't been the only reason?

And then she found herself reading her own answers to that question:

_It was all wonderful in the beginning, like a marvelous holiday in a...well, magical destination. I felt so loved. But that was _all _I was, in their world. Loved. I wasn't respected, I wasn't needed. I couldn't even take care of myself. For the last week, I would lay awake at nights, listening to Charlie's peaceful breathing and imagining my life as a wizard's wife in a wizarding village. I would need help all the time and nobody would need my help. Good Heavens, I organize parties for living! Any decent witch can decorate a house in an instant and they use living fairies and enchanted stars instead of crepe paper and plastic bows._

_ I could see our red-haired children, who would perform dangerous, accidental magic while Charlie would be at work and I couldn't reverse it. Molly had told me about all the things that had happened around her children when they were small, and now, I can't help wondering if she meant me to worry about it. I imagined keeping it all secret from my friends and my family, telling them they couldn't ever visit us in our home. I imagined being totally alone, except for Charlie, and totally  dependant on him. I imagined neighbours watching me, pitying or loathing me._

_I didn't have any other option. I had to leave, even if it hurt. I couldn't have forced Charlie to live as a muggle any more than I could have lived as a witch. There wasn't any other way. And now there certainly isn't._

_I left him a note. I thought that was better, because any explanations would only have hurt him more. I came home and I thought it was over. Then I remembered something: the magical world is a great secret. Muggles like me aren't supposed to know about it and the magical administration keeps a severe watch over it. I only got to know about it because I was going to marry Charlie. Now that it's over, he has to Obliavate me. It's a spell that wipes out one's memories. I don't know for sure how it works, but I know it's a complicated charm and something can go wrong. I don't want to feel like a patient after a lobotomy. Having lived through all this, I have earned my memories and I shall hold on to them!_

_He is coming, I know it. Don't hate him for what he has to do. He really has to do it. If you read the book I'll hide in the locker, you'll understand it better. I don't have time to write more, I'll go to the railway station now. I hope you'll remember everything when you have read this._

She didn't remember everything. The memories she had written in her letter were like a piece of fiction to her. She would have to memorize her own past. Regardless of what she had written, she couldn't help a burst of hatred emerging. He had violated her memory, mutilated her mind. And he loved her? Sure! She imagined Charlie, angry at her for leaving him, ringing her doorbell and entering her apartment like an angel of revenge, drawing his wand and laughing bitterly. Looking into her eyes and smiling. Shouting harsh words in Latin._ Watching in a patronizing manner as she collapsed on the floor, without her memories. Patting her unconscious head and mouthing : _Pitiful little muggle_, under his breath. Going back to his wizarding world, relieved that he didn't have to deal with an alien anymore._

Reasonably thinking, she _knew_ that wasn't how it had happened. She just couldn't think reasonably. She didn't remember how it _had happened. She had to hate somebody for her situation, and it was less painful to hate Charlie than to love him. She picked up the wizarding photograph, looked at it once again and ripped it half, forcefully. _

She didn't know a charm to repair it. She just hadn't it in her, the magic.

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a/n: There. Surprisingly for me, there wasn't only angst, but also a bit of fluff. My my, how did _that_ get there?

Anyhow, the question I had for you: PLEASE, ANSWER!  At this point of my story, I have a small dilemma. I have now two options considering how to continue. First option would mean going on for maybe 2-3 chapters before the end and keeping the fic pretty much "in style". For this possibility, I have an idea and I know pretty much how it would go.

The second option is to go on as before, leaping into unknown future and not reaching for the end yet. I have a few ideas I'd like to write, but no decisions about the destination. In a way, I'd like to continue a bit further, but I'm afraid that the story won't stay in style if I go on. It might even move slightly (only slightly) away from angst.

Please, tell me what you think! I'm not fishing for compliments here; even if you like my story, you can think (and you can be right in thinking) that it would be a better one if cut short.

I have to make the decision before the next chapter, so if you could state your opinion pretty fast, please? This isn't any vote, I am only asking for help. I mean, there you are, why should I ponder this on my own?! ;) Thanks.


	10. Seeking for Expert's Advice

disclaimer: Not mine, not mine…

a/n: Thank you very much for your insightful and wise advice. I have decided to carry on a bit further than a couple of chapters, but this isn't going to be a very long story. I have no intention to stray away from my actual subject or cover a long time frame, because I think you were right when advising me not to. I am, though, going to explore a bit more the possibilities of which I have already placed some clues here. Also, I am not yet deciding how I'll finish this. I'll let it make my mind. I have some ideas, but we'll see how the characters react on them. Thank you all! (snuggle the muggle – maybe we share a brain?)

And now the answer to your questions: what the heck Seamus has to do with all this?

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**Seeking for Expert's Advice**

Dean Thomas, startled, suddenly noticed someone stepping into his personal space. "Oh, Charlie", he managed to gasp almost coherently. He took a step backwards and studied his broad-shouldered co-worker cautiously, ready to bolt if the normally so calm man got crazy again.

"Dean."

"Yes?"  The muscles in his legs were already tensing.

"Happen to know about Seamus? Finnigan?"  That was a bit of a surprise. Charlie seemed really anxious about this. Dean didn't remember Seamus and Charlie ever being mates or anything like that. He calculated hurriedly in his head. He didn't believe Charlie Weasley was after Seamus for anything _bad._ He wouldn't hurt Seamus, even if he had behaved a bit out of control a moment ago. _And – Dean decided looking at the readhead – he might hurt _him_, if he didn't answer pretty soon._

"Works for the Ministry. Games and Sports." Dean had thought _he had been ready to bolt, but Charlie's reflexes were obviously superior to his. He had hardly time to realize that Charlie had moved before he was gone. And Dean still really couldn't think of any reason for him to be needing Seamus._

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To say he was nervous would have been a severe understatement. He massaged his neck with his right hand, watching the small house surrounded by hedges in front of him. Hermione had suggested that he should ask Dean. From Dean he had gotten the information on where Seamus Finnigan worked. In the Ministry they had told him he had a day off and could be found in Ireland. So he had apparated to Ireland, near the old town of Droghada. From Seamus himself he had, after some explanations, gotten this address and a promise to send an owl. Then he had apparated in the nearby woods as Seamus had advised, and walked here.

 It had all taken him only two hours. After that, he had walked round the nice looking, suburban block seventeen and half times, first waiting for the owl to arrive and then for the appropriate time to pass from its arrival, before going to the door. The owl had arrived eight rounds ago and still he stood there, contemplating on how to approach the house.

The house itself didn't look particularly menacing or ominous. The Grimmauld Place number 12, for example, had given a much more sinister first impression. But it wasn't the tidy little brickhouse that intimidated Charlie, only the people inside. Nevertheless, he wanted to understand, even if it was too late to change anything. Finally, he took a deep breath, stepped forward and opened the decorated wooden gate leading to the house's front yard.

"Beat it! Bloody buggers! Shouldn't be attacking me! If you'd ever heard of fair play, you'd wait for a wizard!"

At the same moment Charlie stepped inside the hedges, the bellowing broke the silence. He had barely time to recognize that a silencing charm must have been placed around the house, before he saw the person responsible for the noise. In front of him stood a large man with sandy, slightly curly hair, big moustache, massive arms and wide chest. He chased after garden gnomes, an activity Charlie himself had often taken part in, but his tactics were quite peculiar. He lashed around with a shovel, but didn't seem to be aiming at anything, certainly not the gnomes.

Charlie was about to silently retreat from the danger's way when the man noticed him and yelled:

"Good! Just what I needed! Tell me, lad, where are the little buggers?"

He was blind? How come a blind person threshed about with a shovel? That was damn dangerous. Charlie decided he should do something. He had faced dragons, a few garden gnomes weren't anything compared to a Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Put the shovel down, sir. I'll catch them for you."

"Be my guest, lad. It should be one of your kind to deal with them, anyway. Seamus was supposed to visit this week, but that lass of his takes all his time, I suppose." The man sat heavily on a garden bench. "Use the sack! You can't just throw them over the hedge,  the neighbours are muggles."

It didn't take Charlie but a moment to catch the gnomes. They seemed to be used to an opponent that couldn't see them and didn't even try to hide themselves. He got a few bites, but all together, it was almost unfairly easy. He placed the wriggling sack by the bench and wiped the sweat off his neck and forehead.

"Fine job, there", the man stated. Even his normal voice came close to a bellow. "You must be Charlie. My son wrote I should be expecting a red haired dragon tamer and you tamed the gnomes all right. Sean Finnigan." He shook Charlie's hand. His grip was strong and he looked straight at him. He seemed to be seeing him just fine. Wouldn't Seamus had mentioned it if his father was blind?

"They shouldn't even be here. This is a muggle house and a muggle garden. They smell wizards, I tell you! They smell wizards and think they have right to come here and ruin my garden and have me for lunch. Bloody nuisance, those gnomes."

"Well, they aren't that bad..."

"Nooo, but _you can see them! I only notice them when they sink their little razor-sharp teeth in my shins! That' s no party, Charlie, no party at all."_

"Do you mean...?"

"I mean that muggles can't see them! Didn't you know? Why do you think we believe dragons and gnomes and unicorns and bloody griffins to be imaginary beasts? I've been told that one can learn to see them, if they know of their existence and have the necessary amount of _sensitivity_ or what ever, but I have dealt with these buggers for twenty-six years and they're still invisible to me. Thank Heavens, owls are real birds or I wouldn't get any post." He sighed and stretched his neck. "So you wanted to ask me something, Charlie?"

"Well, you see, sir..."

"Sean. I don't care for any titles."

"Sean. It's...I have a muggle fiancee and I wanted to ask you some advice on...how to make it work. How it is for a muggle to live with a wizard...or a witch, in your case." Charlie thought that if he wanted to get any information, it was probably better not to mention breaking up with Anna and Obliviating her. The large man sitting in front of him didn't look like one you should deliberately anger.

"Charlie, Charlie", he shook his head grinning benevolently, "that wasn't any simple question you asked. Let's go inside. And I could use a beer."

Charlie followed Seamus Finnigan's father inside the house. He looked around, curious about how the Finnigans lived with both a wizard and a muggle in the family. There was an open fireplace, a cage for an owl and if you looked for it, you could see that the house was somewhat bigger in the inside than it's exterior had indicated. There were typical muggle items as well: a television-set, a computer and muggle stereos were the first ones to meet the eye. Charlie took notice of the electronic light switches also, and when they walked into the kitchen, Sean opened an icebox to grab a couple of beers. On the shelf above the stove there were, side by side, an old cauldron and a...how was it called...a micro-wee-oven?

It wasn't very different from a normal muggle home, like the one Anna had. It _wasn't a muggle house, though. Charlie could see where charms had been used to make the stairs fit into a corner too small for them, and he guessed the muggle lock on the door wasn't the only safety measure placed on it. He wondered if it took a wizard to notice the subtle differences or whether the muggle neighbours could see them as well. Probably they couldn't, or were at least unable to understand  what they saw. _

Anna had once said that it took pretty much for something to be viewed as magical or impossible in the muggle world. Apparently they had a tendency to explain everything according to the reality as they knew it. Not that wizards didn't. They just knew a different kind of reality.

"Well, Charlie", Sean sat down at the heavy, round kitchen table, opened his can of beer and offered the other to Charlie, " you've come to seek for an expert's advice, eh?"

His question seemed rhetorical so Charlie just nodded and sipped his beer. He had actually begun to like the muggle drink. After the war it had been necessary to mingle with the muggle world in order to rebuild the magical administration situatuted partly inside of it. He had probably learnt more about muggles in a few months than his father during all his time working for the Muggle Relations.

 Or at least he had learnt the basics about the quotidian life of muggles: he knew how to order in a restaurant without embarrassing himself or how to make a phone call or how to get a beer. Not for the first time after the previous morning, he tought that he in all likelihood had been a lot better prepared to manage in the muggle world than Anna had been to fit in the wizarding one. Sean Finnigan's voice startled him awake from his thoughts:

"Well, the most important thing is to remember to..." , he looked Charlie straight into eyes as if preparing to tell him a great secret, and formed his words very carefully, "...tell her before the wedding, for Heaven's sake."

"What?" He hadn't expected that.

 "Yes. That's what happened to me", he stated gravely.

"She told you after you were married?" Charlie knew it wasn't funny from Sean's point of view, but it was very hard not to chuckle.  Soon he realized that he shouldn't have bothered to hide his amusement, though, as Sean himself burst out laughing. His laughter was as loud as his bellow in the yard had been and more contagious. Charlie found himself guffawing along. It loosened up some tension and when the laughter finally ceased and Sean wiped his eyes and took a long drink of his beer it felt like they had known each other for a long time.

"I can laugh at it now, but hell, what a shock it was at the time. Bloody hell." Sean hesitated for a moment, watching his large hands gripping the beer can. " I don't know if it was the witch-thing itself. I mean, my family _are Catholics and my Granny would probably have freaked out had she known and whatsoever, but what really hurt was the fact that she didn't believe I 'd have stayed by her side on my own, without the Church's and my family's pressure. That bloody hurt."_

Sean stopped abruptly and his last words were left floating in the air. They sat in the silence together, Sean examining his beer can and Charlie, absentmindedly, massaging his swollen knuckles. He hadn't had time to get them healed after their unfortunate encounter with the mantlepiece. Then Sean broke the silence and his voice was surprisingly low for such a loud man.

"And when she _did _tell...I had always imagined myself as this big and strong man, you know. One who takes care of the little woman. I'm..., hell, I'm _ashamed_ to admit that one of the reasons I fell for Una was probably the very thing that she was so darn fragile and I could show her everything and help her around. I liked to be the competent one, the one in charge. Well, in your world I bloody wasn't. And she was."

Sean swallowed and looked at Charlie again. He had admitted his guilt and now Charlie felt guilty under the older man's scrutiny, though he didn't really know what for. Sean took a deep breath and continued, his voice rising:

"One thing that really got to me, and still does, is how you people make hard work so damn easy. I'm a carpenter. Guess how it felt to see Una's brothers _conjuring a bed? Just like that! Ten bloody minutes and there it is, a nice piece of furniture, red oak, all the fine carvings in their place. Would have taken me three weeks, at least. And I'm a bloody brilliant carpenter!"_

"Conjured things aren't that great, always", Charlie said trying to offer some consolation.

"Yes. I know. And it takes a hell of an amount of magic to hold them together. I know. She wanted to build this house with magic, you know", he shook his head, reminiscing. "I didn't take it, no sir, I wanted to make everything myself, for _real_. In the end, we did it together. It has a solid foundation and strong walls, this house, but there's a bit of magic here and there. Making the closets bigger, the ceiling higher...that sort of thing. Hasn't collapsed yet."

"I _did tell her before the wedding."  All of a sudden Charlie wanted Sean to know that._

"Good for you. But she didn't take it well, eh?"

"She took it all right, I guess. It was afterwards that we had problems. When I took her home, my parent's house, that is. Or not even then, not right away, it was later. I really didn't see it before she left." He felt awfully stupid confessing his own blindness.

"Did she tell you any reason?" That was only a question, with no accusation or blame in it.

"No. Not really. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Everything was fine for over seven months and then I told her I was a wizard and took her home, and it was three weeks before she left."

Sean straightened up in his chair and suddenly, the atmosphere in the kitchen changed. "You told her and then, right away, whisked her off to the wizarding world for three weeks?"

"Well...yeah", he felt a need to explain further: "We were engaged and she hadn't met my family yet."

"So... you took her away to spend three weeks with a bunch of strange redhead wizards?"

"Well...yeah." 

"With no other muggles, with no telephone, with no means to contact her friends at all?"

"She could have written a letter."

"And sent it by owl?"

"Well...I was there to help her!" It had seemed natural at the time, but when Sean shot his questions like that, he felt like he maybe had done a tiny little mistake somewhere. Sean looked at him, took a deep breath and asked his next question in a misleadingly calm manner:

"Let me guess: you come from a long line of pureblood wizards and she was the first muggle they ever met properly?"

"No", Charlie offered quickly, " Hermione, my brother's wife, is a muggleborn." Contented, he dared to breath again and silently thanked Ron. At least he had been able to answer one question correctly.

"Oh, _one muggle__born. Bloody great." Sean didn't seem appropriately pleased about his answer, though. Then he leaned back in his chair, sighed and massaged his forehead with his thick thumbs."I guess we need more beer, then." _

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Finnigan Sr. took hold of this chapter. I was going to handle it all swiftly, but got carried away with him. Do you like him? Can you bear him for an other chapter? It irritates me that as English isn't my native language, I can't make him speak as I hear him in my head (in my head he doesn't speak any language, you see, only gives an image of certain kind of speach). If you notice some big incoherences or mistakes, please, inform me! I really don't know if muggles can see garden gnomes in the canon, either. Forgive me if they can, Sean just introduced himself to me like that.

Oh, by the way, I'll be away from home for the next few days so there won't be a new chapter this weekend. I'll try to get one ready for **next Wednesday. I don't know yet if I'll go back to Anna or carry on with Charlie's conversation with mr. Finnigan. I have to think about that a bit. You can tell your preferences, if you like.**

_There is a secret I'm going to tell you:_

_Do you know what happens when you review?_

_You'll make this author feel very good,_

_see, your reviews are the author's food._

_She won't get fat, I'll tell you that,_

_but instead, she will write more, faster_

_avoiding the much feared disaster_

_of Writer's Block._


	11. Truth Makes a Brutal Friend

Hello, again! It isn't Wednesday, I know, and I'm sorry. But things have been busy and Christmas is coming and... Well, but thanks again for your reviews (aster-ix  - I know, can't help it. If some one would like to translate it to a real Irish talk, I could offer my talents at Finglish and several Finnish accents...as there are so many of you using Finnish characters...;) x-woman1 – yes, of course, how didn't I remember that...,gabriel, thanks for your correction)  and here you are,  some more Charlie:

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**Truth Makes a Brutal Friend**

Charlie watched the large man sitting across the table taking yet another swallow of beer and sighing. Or rather, he watched the smooth surface of the wooden kitchen table and listened to the man drinking and sighing. He waited for him to speak, to explain the reasons for his deep sighs and the way he slowly shook his head and looked at him. He felt nervous and timid and he didn't like how he felt. No, he didn't like it at all.

 It brought back Potion's lessons at Hogwarts and the memories of being found lacking and incompetent. Because he hadn't hated Potions for Snape's unpleasant teaching methods or the shivery cold of the dungeon classroom. He had detested the subject because of his own incompetence at it, because no matter how hard he studied or with how much effort he tried to understand, he just couldn't comprehend even the basics. He had made stupid, elementary mistakes and succeeded occasionally only with dumb luck, not realizing why or how.

He felt the same way now. Only a few questions by Seamus Finnigan's muggle father had brought down his confidence and he found himself anticipating his next words with fear. What else had he done wrong? How was it possible to make so many mistakes without even realizing it? He had truly, sincerely thought that all had been fine between Anna and himself. He obviously couldn't handle even the concept of a relationship any better than he had handled Potions.

Charlie Weasley was frightened. Frightened and intimidated by mere words. But that wouldn't do now! This wasn't Potions, a school subject with no real importance to him personally. This was his life and Anna, who was, or at least had been, of very much importance to him. He was a dragon tamer, for Merlin's sake, he was an adult man, he had fought a war, he had faced horrors of many kinds. He could face his own mistakes. And Charlie Weasley lifted his head and fixed his eyes to meet Sean Finnigan's gaze.

"So", Sean's voice boomed, slow and almost kind, " you're beginning to understand, eh?" Charlie didn't need to answer, the other man knew his answer already and carried on: "Imagine yourself, Charles Weasley, going to the muggle world for the first time in your life with a woman you love, and learning about...let's say light switches." Sean got up and went to the nearest light switch. He clicked it off and then on again. "She would show you how they worked and you'd find it exhilarating and exiting – until you'd realize that _you couldn't use the switches and without help you'd have to stay in the dark."_

Sean switched the lights off and continued talking in the dark, his voice echoing in the twilight of the kitchen: "And there'd be animals, like your dragons, but you wouldn't know them at all and you couldn't even go near them to learn about them and everybody working with them would patronizingly, but in a kind manner, ask you to move out of the way and tell you that you shouldn't strain yourself with such a hard work. And instead of brooms and floo-powder, people would move around with cars and you'd know that you could never, no matter how hard you tried, learn to drive one. And you couldn't talk about it with your friends or your family, because it all was to be a great _bloody secret!" _

He had been talking softly and calmly until the last words, which he hissed vehemently at Charlie. Charlie winced in the dark and then had to blink when Sean abruptly switched the lights on again and returned to his chair. Suddenly the large man looked tired. Avoiding Charlie's eyes he let the last words heavily drop out of his mouth:"Imagine then, that you were to live the rest of your life in that world, a world where you could never learn even the basics, no matter how hard you tried. Would your love be enough? Should it be enough?"

It wasn't an overwhelming, sudden realization. No, it had been creeping in for a while now. Charlie felt little pieces of truth knocking on all the doors of his awareness and gaining entrance, and he was too drained to even try to fight them. Eventually, they would win anyhow. They always did.

 Most of all, he felt guilt. Sean had confessed he had felt the need to be in charge and to help Una in their relationship, and Charlie couldn't deny anymore that he had behaved in the same way with Anna. Taking her to the wizarding world had been wonderful to him, as in the muggle world he couldn't have shown his real talents; he had been forced to be less than he was; Anna had been stronger than him; he had needed Anna's help - and he hadn't enjoyed it. 

So, in the wizarding world he had taken it all back. He had taken revenge on Anna, revenge for his own incompetence in the muggle world, and he hadn't even seen what he had been doing.

 He felt guilty, but from the guilt he sensed the burst of anger rising. Logically he knew it should have been directed at himself, but instead, he pushed it away and blamed other people. He was angry with Anna for not saying anything, he was angry with Hermione, because as a muggleborn she should have seen it coming and warned him, and he was angry with Sean Finnigan, mainly because he was _there, in front of him and hence deserved his anger._

"So I 've messed it up", he snapped bitterly, "How did _you manage, oh you almighty one, if it's so fucking hard?"_

It irritated Charlie even more when Sean smiled at him like a parent smiles at a moping child. He must have seen his irritation but it only widened his grin. "Well, we fought a lot", he said then, in a lovingly reminiscent manner, "and it _was_ bloody hard, no question about that. But then we learned to cope, to make compromises, to respect the other's way of doing things. And most of all...", he lowered his voice and glanced around the kitchen as if waiting for some enemy to materialize from the plain wall, " we learnt to fool the Ministry." His eyes were full of mischief and the atmosphere shifted suddenly.

Not for the first time during the conversation, Sean's abrupt change of mood met Charlie unprepared: "What?" was all he was able to utter.

"Those blokes at the Ministry, they did anything in their power to make it difficult for us. _Big Secret...Absolutely Prohibited to tell the Muggles...Obliviate! Obliviate!_ " Sean was obviously trying to mockingly imitate Ministry officials, but his booming voice didn't really bend to the purpose and the result sounded very weird. His meaning was clear, however, and Charlie found himself almost giggling. Sean looked like a schoolboy rejoicing his success after a particularly delicious prank and Charlie was generously pulled into the prank and into the sweet haze of victory over authority.

"They monitor everything, as you know, but through _what?" Sean asked and answered himself, full of triumph: "Through bloody MAGIC! People without magic, us, the muggles, we aren't so easy to monitor. Certainly they can see if a wizard is using magic around us, but they can't distinguish _which_ of us or even how many of us for sure! Just think about it, Charlie!" Sean jumped up and practically danced around the table to heavily slap Charlie on his shoulder. "Think about it!"_

And he thought about it. He thought and slowly, the implications started to appear to him. The idea was new; he had never – well, never after Fudge – really thought about misleading the Ministry or bending the major rules. Mainly, he had to admit, because it couldn't be done without getting caught. But now Seamus Finnigan's father said it could be done, that he had done it, and been doing it for years.

"Do you mean that you were able to tell your family without the Ministry's permission?" Charlie asked at last. When Sean had earlier listed the reasons for Anna's  possible discomfort in the wizarding world, the idea of her having to keep it all secret from her relatives and friends had hit Charlie the hardest. He couldn't even imagine the situation where he'd have to keep major secrets from his family and still he had taken it granted that Anna would.

"Exactly, Charlie, my lad, exactly. We tried it first with my brother. Una did some small spell in front of both of us and then he bolted. They rushed in a couple of times, with their wands ready, only to find just me and my missus, in perfect legality. After a while, they didn't bother anymore. To them, it only confirmed that all of us muggles looked the same in the magic monitoring. We could make our own choices, after that.  Naturally, we didn't tell _all my relatives, only the trustworthy and open-minded ones. __But...", he grinned the prankish smile again, " my Una knows some bloody dazzling party tricks."_

"What!?" Charlie's vocabulary seemed to be stuck on the same word.

"Una, she's in show-business", Sean winked," she knows all kind of _special effects. Gives a hell of an entertainment. Nobody asks any questions. We're thought to be a bit eccentric, thanks to her line of work, but luckily, I'm a mere carpenter and our son works, decently enough, for the administration, so we are accepted in the neighbourhood.  All you weird buggers with your weird habits and clothes and all, you're naturally Una's friends from work. I could easily introduce _you_ as a dragon tamer and it wouldn't raise any suspicion. Your Ministry's people are bloody idiots. The aftereffect of an Obliviate is much more revealing than seeing a few minor spells here and there believing they're tricks."_

This was really hard to comprehend. Sean sat there, grinning, and explained that half of their neighbourhood saw magic on regular phases and the Ministry didn't notice. And the muggles themselves didn't notice. Anna _had once claimed that she could let Fred and George loose among her friends and just tell them they were really good at hypno...hypno-something. It just was so hard to grasp._

Sean interpreted Charlie's troubled expression as one of disapproval and hurried to defend himself: "Charlie, my mate, don't take it so seriously. We _have earned a right to mess with them a bit. You don't know how much they've messed with our life. Bloody hell, in the beginning I was Obbed every other day! Any time I saw one of Una's relatives apparating or flying a broom, some overenthusiastic Ministry official would rush there to wave his wand. I started to carry a darn tape recorder with me and tape everything so I wouldn't keep missing bits of my life. It's a disgusting business, Obbing. You feel like you've lost half your head...along with all of your self-respect. Should be illegal." He made a face as if he was going to spit on the table, but voted for a sip of beer instead._

Charlie couldn't help wincing. He hastily took a sip from his own beer hoping Sean didn't see his discomfort. He _really_ didn't want the other man to know what he had done. _It had been _necessary, the Ministry had demanded it, it was a normal procedure_, he repeated in his head, but in vain. It had seemed like the only option at the time, but after listening to Sean's labourous schemes for misleading the Ministry and getting to act like he himself had seen it right, Charlie couldn't help feeling weak and cowardly about his own actions._

" So, the first step is to learn to fool the Ministry," Sean continued in an expertly manner and clearly enjoyed his role as an advisor, "then you can concentrate on the everyday problems. Because there'll be those, mark my words, Charlie, mark my words. You'll better get a place in a muggle area but near some other wizarding families, that's only fair, ain't it? And you'll have to learn to use some muggle gadgets, my lad, things like cell phones, even though those don't work when there's a lot of magic around. And you'll have to create some kind of an alarm system for your missus to use, so she'll be able to contact you wizards when in any kind of magic trouble. And you should learn to do something with your hands without it being a punishment, to understand her better – I could teach you some carpentry..."

Sean carried on, faster and faster. His accent got heavier and he draw messy diagrams on the tabletop with a piece of chalk he had dug up from his pocket. He was obviously very enthusiastic and eager to help and the solutions he offered made sense and didn't seem too impossible or hard to comply. Which only made Charlie more miserable. Minute by minute it became clearer and clearer how badly he had botched it all up. Obliviating Anna hadn't been his only option, it had been a hasty, cowardly action and a terrible, uncorrectable mistake. He couldn't listen to Sean's happy rattle and tried to shut it out along with his own thoughts. He didn't succeed.

"We'll be happy to help you, me and Una. I know she'll love to. You must come to visit us together, you and your Anna, eh?"

Charlie froze. Damn it, he should have anticipated that. "Um...I don't know. See...she isn't talking to me at the moment..."

"Bollocks! You've been together for months, it isn't all over in a few weeks! You tell her you've been a bloody prat and you're ready to compromise and you've been getting some advise from an expert." Sean leaned back in his chair and grinned, satisfied with his own contribution in getting two lovers back together. Then he looked at Charlie more closely and his expression changed. He sat straight again in his chair and his eyes narrowed. He studied the redhead in front of him for a long time.

"Damn it, Charlie," he said at last, pleadingly," don't you dare to say you...", he didn't finish his question as Charlie swallowed and avoided his eyes. Sean's shoulders sagged. For a moment they were both silent, Charlie waiting for the eruption of Sean's wrath feeling he had deserved it. When Sean finally opened his mouth, it wasn't to bellow, though.

"And I _liked_ you. I bloody _liked you!" he whispered more sad and desperate than angry, and suddenly, Charlie hoped he would have been angry. He hoped he would have jumped up and yelled at him and hit him instead of what he did. "You'd better leave my house now", Sean said softly and there was a sound of finality in his voice. He didn't look at Charlie, but Charlie could see the older man swallowing as if trying to stop himself from crying. For the first time since they had met he looked old in Charlie's eyes and out of nowhere he remembered that Sean was probably going to die years before a wizard would, years before his wife would._

Without a word, he stood up, walked to the door, out of it and out of the decorated wooden gate in the yard. He hadn't got anything to say, after all. Nothing in his defense.

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Poor Charlie. Poor Sean. Nothing really happened here, exept inside of Charlie's head, but I just got the idea of Sean gaining victory over the Ministry. In the next chapter we'll meet Anna again and something will maybe happen, so stay tuned!   
And Merry Christmas to everybody!

_It's Christmas time and Peace on Earth_

_so judge my work for what it's worth_

_Or surely you may kinder be_

_it being like a gift to me._

_So, waiting for the Santa Claus_

_please, take a little, tiny pause_

_I, too, have been so very good_

_I've earned my presents, understood?_


	12. It's Not an Obsession

**disclaimer: **again, not mine. Still, I'm happily borrowing…

**a/n:** Another again: huge thanks for all my reviewers! I'm very happy you like it. I actually like this chapter myself at the moment, but as I'm suffering of an influenza of some kind, I can't trust my opinion. So let me know yours! Without further babbling, here you are: Anna as Modesty Blaise.

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**It's Not an Obsession**

_Damn! Damn! Damn!_ She felt like seriously hitting something, but the only something around was her own pillow and hitting soft cotton wool probably wasn't aggressive enough. She hit the pillow anyway. Expectedly, it didn't make her feel better.

Why did her body remember it all, when she couldn't remember anything with her conscious mind? She had to learn her own memories by heart, but in the dark, in her own bed, she could feel the arms that weren't around her, the chest that didn't press against her back, the breathing that didn't tickle her neck. _Damn it!_

She had been used to be alone. She enjoyed her own company. She had friends, she had her work, she didn't necessarily need a man in her life. She didn't need her other half, she was a whole person herself. She had been fine before Charlie.

She was fine still.

It was just...it was easier to stay alone than to be left alone. Or even to have left to be alone. She had observed her friends before. She had seen how pairs clung together for no other reason than to avoid being alone, because they didn't know how, because they had always had someone. To have someone had become so important it didn't matter anymore who the someone was. She had promised herself she would never behave like that. She had promised herself she would only stay with someone she loved and only for so long as it worked.

So she had left. It had been the right decision to make. She had kept the promise she had made herself. Why, then, did she miss those arms that weren't there? Anna Richardsson sighed and hit the pillow once more, not expecting it to help her distress this time either. She was one pitiful sample of an wimpy woman.

There was no reason to fight it. Not when she was losing the match. She _did miss him, she __did regret leaving, although it had been her only option and the right choice to make._

 One could regret the right choices as well as the wrong ones.

There was really no reason to be ashamed of it. There was really no reason to deny it. There was really no reason...not to go to hang around the entrance of the Ministry of Magic or the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to see a glance of him. Only a glance, mind you, only from afar. Only to feel some innocent nostalgia and wallow in self pity for a while. That was what one had to do after a break up, wasn't it? It was customary, almost non-optional.

It wasn't immature. There was no resemblance with the way she had, as a preteen, studied the phonebook trying to determine which Denham was Paul the Gorgeous' father. None at all. She was entitled to some getting-over-it rituals. And as whining about it to her friends was out of the question, she had to settle with some stalking and stupidness.

She still had five whole days of her month's holiday left. It was better to get it over with before going back to work. Determinedly, she got up, showered, dressed up, breakfasted and hurried towards to nearest bus stop in order to reach the central London. In the small, leather bound book called _The Magical Community – Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place there were fairly promising instructions on how to get to the visitor's entrance of the Ministry of Magic._

She couldn't, naturally, _enter_ the Ministry. She certainly wasn't  going to try. There probably were some sort of muggle-repelling charms preventing her even from seeing the entrance, anyhow. She would only observe its possible whereabouts, looking for anything familiar. Especially for one familiar redhead.

She knew there was no going back. Never mind how much she missed Charlie it simply wasn't worth it. She was not going to trade herself for a relationship – who would it then be enjoying the said relationship? She was only making a closure and naturally, trying to gain back her memories, to understand better what had happened.

It was necessary to visit places that could trigger her memory. Treating her state of amnesia was a reason even her ridiculously stern and suspicious conscious mind accepted. The other reasons for going she kept well hidden from herself. Like the laughable fantasy where she would meet Charlie again and deliberately chat him up and he couldn't resist her and she wouldn't reveal she remembered anything and they would start it all over again and she would do anything in her power to postpone the day he would tell her so that she could have another seven months, or even six, or at least three. She would just forget it could never lead to anything. She would just take whatever there was to take. For how long it was there to be taken.

Unfortunately, she knew even her unconscious mind wasn't letting her fulfill her fantasy. Apparently going to hang around the entrance of the Ministry of Magic and reading _The Magical Community – Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place_ over and over again was about as far as she would get in actually _doing _something.

 Even so, it felt good to be taking some action, to have some kind of a game plan. She felt more in control of the situation, more sure of herself. It didn't matter that her plan consisted of only three steps: taking the bus near to the Ministry's entrance, finding a place where from she could see it clearly (if she would be able to see it at all) and staying there until something happened. Or didn't happen.

Getting off the bus, she felt almost cheery. She was a spy, she was a freaking Modesty Blaise! The  fact that she had no difficulties in finding the narrow street the book had described only strengthened her great mood. She stepped into a shabby little pub, ordered a half-pint and took a table near the window.

The tabletop had not been sponged for about a decade so she didn't lean her elbows on it. The window was so dusty she could barely see through it. The other patrons were a very homogeneous bunch of people and she didn't fit into that bunch. Normally it all would have made her self-conscious and timid. In her present Jamesina Bond -state of mind all the shabbiness of the surrounding premises only increased the feeling of adventure. And the beer was excellent.

It _was very exiting, to observe the street outside of the pub. How was it possible she hadn't noticed any wizards before she had learned about their existence? They stuck out on the street more clearly than she herself in the pub. The chubby little man in a __robe was carrying a __broom, for Heaven's sake!_

She couldn't see where exactly the weird looking people were going. She knew the visitor's entrance before the war had been through a broken-down telephone box and that after the war it had, for safety reasons, been placed inside one of the little offices now managed by the Ministry personnel. Still, never mind how hard she looked, she couldn't see people going _in any of the offices. Any time some wizard-looking person neared the doors, she suddenly found the foam on her beer or the state of her nail varnish extremely interesting._

She didn't let it discourage her. It was only a muggle-repellent charm working. She didn't need to see where exactly the entrance was, anyhow. She was here to see a glimpse of Charlie or any other wizard or witch she had got to know not remembering it. She had studied the digital photos for hours and she was certain she could identify any one of them. Fred, George, Arthur, Molly, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Alicia, Angelina, Charlie. She was here and she would keep her eyes open. She ordered another half-pint.

Two hours and three more half-pints later it wasn't so exiting anymore. There apparently weren't so many wizards and witches using the visitor's entrance and none of them seemed even distantly familiar. And her bladder couldn't take any more beer without forcing her to use the pub's loo, which was an option she really didn't want to take. When her cell phone ringed, she automatically picked it up and answered. Only to regret it when hearing her sister's voice:

"Anna! Are you back already? I only tried to give you a ring, 'cause I couldn't believe Charlie's folks would really live somewhere that cell phones _absolutely refused to work . How's Charlie? How about his folks?"_

Anna had an almost irresistible need to answer that everything was fine. She never whined about anything to her family. She was the one helping others, she couldn't have problems of her own. She opened her mouth to tell a pack of lies. Then she happened to glance around and saw that the man on her right side who she had thought to be asleep had his eyes open and was looking at her in a scrutinizing manner. What if he was a wizard? Her sister's voice had a shrilling quality, the man had surely heard her through the phone. What if he knew about her and Charlie? What if she was being followed in order to make sure the Obliviate had worked? She forced herself to speak.

"Sheila...actually...I never saw his folks. We broke up three weeks ago."

"Three weeks?! Where have you been? Why haven't you told me? What happened? Why did you break up after seven months, just like that? He is married, isn't he? I knew he was too good to be true!" Sheila stopped for a moment and Anna could hear her listening. " Are you in a pub? Have you been drinking?"

Now it wasn't only the man on her right side that was looking at her. Everybody in the pub had their eyes on her and they seemed to be very entertained by the show. She could feel her Bondness draining out of her leaving only a pitiful, lonely woman behind.

"Sheila. I really don't want to talk about it on the phone."

"That's it. I'm coming over tonight. I'm bringing booze and chocolate. If you're going to drink yourself to oblivia, you can at least do it in good company."

Oblivia. Great. She didn't need any more oblivia. She knew Sheila wouldn't listen, but she tried anyway: "Sheila, please, I'm fine. I'll see you later this week, all right?"

"No way! I'll be there around sevenish and you'd better be home!" Then the phone went mute. Great. Great. Great. Anna glared angrily at the man on her right side. It was all his fault. Of course he wasn't a wizard, she had only overreacted and now she had Sheila on her back. Great. _And _she had developed paranoia on top of her amnesia. Great.

She hauled herself up from her chair, straightened her back and left the pub in a way as dignified as possible for a woman who had been publicly humiliated and who had drunk two and a half pints of strong lager without eating anything. She wobbled only slightly and even managed to step over the threshold without tumbling over it. She absolutely refused to give up. She would go straight to Charing Cross Road and return to her spying business.

She took long strides, only losing her balance once or twice, heading for the nearest underground station. It didn't take her long to find herself on Charing Cross Road. It didn't take her long to find the approximated site of the Leaky Cauldron. But she hadn't stood there, trying to focus on the supposed something in between a record store and a book shop, for a very long time before she started to feel extremely stupid.

She was slightly drunk and it probably showed, her bladder was still full and she stood there, staring at nothing. For the second time in a few hours, she felt immature. Being a muggle trying to locate Leaky Cauldron was equivalent to being a teenager hanging around a grocery store trying to persuade someone over the legal age to buy them booze. The scenario only lacked her approaching every weird looking passerby asking whether they could guide her to the pub, but _only if you yourself can see it, know what I mean? There wasn't going to be any Let's See How Stupid You Can Be -contest announced anytime soon, was there? She would be a certain winner._

She was stalking her ex-fiance and pretending to be a secret agent, yes, but at least she could do it in a dignified, adult manner. She retreated a couple of blocks, until she came across a coffee shop called Treats Sandwich Bar. She stepped in, ordered a cup of coffee and a chicken roll, visited the thankfully tidy bathroom and sat down at a table near the window.

Absentmindedly, she took out the small leather bound book from her handbag and leafed through it sipping her coffee. It was probably just a waste of time, to sit here and wait for Charlie to appear from around the corner. The Weasleys were a pure-blooded wizarding family. According to the book, they were likely to Floo or Apparate around, instead of walking through the muggle London. She took a bite of her roll and then raised her eyes to look out of the window again.

The bite of  bread almost dropped from her open mouth. Ron Weasley and his wife Hermione were standing outside of the coffee shop, looking straight at her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought: _My break up with Charlie__ is no reason to be rude to his folks, and she started to nod and smile when she suddenly realized that she shouldn't be remembering these people. That they were expecting her not to remember them. With trembling hands, she took another sip of her coffee and lowered her head, forcing her expression blank._

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"Move along, Ron", Hermione asked with a strained voice.

"But it's Anna, and she...", her husband protested.

"Exactly", she snapped and pulled him away from the window, "I hate it. I have always _known it's disgusting, but to see it myself...I hate it. Think about it, Ron! We used to know her, she was a __friend, and now she can't remember us! Obviliating someone is like denying them their human rights!"_

"But, Hermione.."

"Don't you dare to disagree me on this, Ronald Weasley!"

"I'm not. It's just that...", Hermione didn't give him a chance to finish.

"It's just _what?! I'm disappointed with you, I truly am! I know you work for the Ministry, but you do have your own brains still, don't you?"_

"Hermione, shut up!"  She stopped, surprised at her husbands roar.

"Hermione, please, listen," he continued hurriedly, "Didn't you see her? She recognized us."

"But...but that's impossible", she stuttered.

"Impossible or not, she did."

"It was probably only your red hair, she would remember Charlie's red hair even if she didn't remember his real appearance..."

"No. She remembered _us_." He continued before she had a chance to object. "And did you have time to see the book she was reading? I'll be damned if it wasn't the same bloody book you've been reading over and over again for the last few weeks."

"_The Magical Community – Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place?" her voice was cracking._

"Exactly. The point not being the damn book's title but the fact that it's a _wizarding book!"_

"Oh."

"Yes. So what are we going to do?"

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Well, well, well...influenza is seemingly increasing my sense of drama. That was a sort of a cliffhanger, folks, but I'm trying to update soon, so don't worry.

_Under influence of influenza, or flu_

_I just happened to accidentally threw_

_together this short piece of story, and true,_

_though I'm not healed yet, I could very well get_

_better, if you'd graciously sat down and set_

_your mind on writing a review which, I'll bet_

_will heal me immediately. You won't regret_

_helping me get over this ghastly, damn flu._

_So, without further notice: please, do review!_


	13. Family is There for You

disclaimer: once again: not mine, not mine!

a/n: thank you, thank you for the reviews. I seem to be a very uncertain writer and after I've posted a chapter, I always feel it wasn't a very good one, even if I'd liked it before. That's why your encouragement is much appreciated. (Funnily enough, also constructive criticism encourages me.)

**anon**- thanks for your opinions, I agree and will work on your pointers, but there are reasons for some things – at least in my mind there are...;) And, by the way, Fudge isn't the Minister anymore, Charlie was only reminiscing of the time he was – maybe I wrote that unclearly.

**gabriel** – I'm really touched by your effort on delivering me your review –thank you.

This is shorter than usually, sorry. I only wanted to get the New Year started. **Happy New Year!**

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**Family is There for You**

_"Exactly. The point not being the damn book's title but the fact that it's a wizarding book!"_

_"Oh."_

_"Yes. So, what are we going to do?"_

"We have to tell Charlie!" Hermione sputtered hastily and managed to take a few running steps before Ron grasped her arm and made her stop.

"Halt! Wait a minute. Calm down and think", he hold her firmly, large hands on both of her shoulders, " Is that really a good idea?"

"My..". she wriggled in his hold, " of course it is! He is miserable! He needs to know she remembers him!"

"He is miserable. Can I remind you why? Or to put it more clearly, because of _whom? And what do you know about him being so miserable? He seemed fine yesterday."_

"Ron! You can't be so daft! He didn't use the pensieve! He was crying, for Heaven's sake! He hit his hand and there was blood and he laughed and..."

"He cried? _Charlie?" For a moment, Ron's determined expression seemed to falter. Then it returned, now strengthened with a great deal of stubbornness. Hermione was vaguely reminded of her mother-in-law. Obviously hearing about Charlie's desperation had triggered some inbuilt protective Weasley-gene in Ron. Maybe she had made a mistake when telling him. The thought flashed through her mind and was confirmed when she heard him shoot: "And you think we should torture him some more? _She _left him. _She _didn't want to make up. _She _wouldn't even bloody talk about it with him."_

"Ron! Honestly!" inwardly she winced hearing her own voice. She sounded exactly like her fourteen-year-old self. She tried to calm down and continued in a tone she hoped sounded adult: "Ron, I thought you liked Anna. How come it's now all her fault? I know Charlie is your brother and I love him, too, but you could even try to be objective. He used _Obliviate_ on her!"

"I was objective enough until Harry told me what she said when Charlie tried to apologize – without even knowing what for, if I may add! She practically told him to go to...you know what...and said she never wanted to see him again. And then she _forced _him to cast Obliviate on her!"

"Ron! Nobody would do that!"

"She did! It wasn't Charlie's fault! Or are you now saying that _Harry is lying? She said she didn't want to remember any of us or anything of Charlie. I'm not exaggarating! Harry was trying to make excuses for her and bloody _understand _her and still he told me so. I don't know what she really said. It must have been something pretty nasty if _that_ was Harry's version."_

"Ron! If she hates Charlie and never wants to see her again, what is she then doing here, next to the Leaky Cauldron, reading a wizarding book?"

"How should I know? Probably scheming up some new way to make Charlie miserable! _And she somehow managed to botch up his Obliviate! "_

"For which I sincerely cheer at her!"

"Want to give her some cheers for dumping Charlie, as well?"

"Ron! Listen to yourself! I know Charlie isn't into arguing like we are, but Anna could very well be. Just think about what you have said to me while fighting. If you had meant all of it and if I had _believed_ all of it, there would have happened worse things than modifying one's memory between you and I."

That stopped Ron in mid-rant. She watched her husband making a double take, blushing – it was sweet how he still blushed, at the age of twenty-five – and finally grinning a bit, embarrassed. She had seen earlier that he really wasn't all behind his words, but had rather been defending his brother. Now he seemed half relieved to let her win.

 Ron had been quite upset when Harry and Charlie had come back from Anna's apartement and Harry had told them the news. He hadn't liked the idea of Obliviating Anna and he hadn't believed they would do it. In order to accept what his brother and his best friend had done, he had, in his mind, moulded Anna into a coldhearted bitch who deserved it. Now, Hermione had given him a way to see things so that neither Anna nor Charlie necessarily ended up a fiend.

"Yes...", he muttered, pondering, "Charlie knows how to fight all right, but he bellows and yells like the rest of us Weasleys. He couldn't possibly handle...your way of fighting, for example."

"I yell as well", Hermione defended herself quickly. Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. She knew what Ron was talking about and she wasn't proud of it.

"Yeah, you do and you nag too, but you have learnt new ways to fight, as well. When you are really angry,  you can be cold and calm and talk like you meant it all even though you really are so pissed off you can hardly think straight. Blast, it's horrible! Much worse than yelling. Somehow when one's yelling it's easier to see they don't mean it all. When they are all calm it feels like they're ripping your entrails out with a dessert spoon, like they didn't bloody care!"

"I do care!" She was feeling horrible.

"_I know that, love", he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, "I know that's a way of defence. But Charlie doesn't. And Harry, he can be all calm and coherent _until_ he gets really mad. Anna must have just stood there, looking cold and satisfied with herself and those bloody prats couldn't see she was upset and frightened. Charlie thought she hated him and Harry nobly thought she should be let to make her own decisions. I should have gone there instead of Harry. I just couldn't imagine they'd be both so thick."_

 "Look who's speaking", Hermione shot, but she was smiling at him, proud that he had learnt to use his sharp perception for understanding other people instead of only chess-moves.

"So, what are we going to do, then?" he returned to the question that had initiated their loud act of disagreement which had even gathered them some elusive audience.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard. "I don't know for certain", she finally admitted.

"You know," Ron said slowly, "maybe we have looked at it from a wrong angle. Maybe we shouldn't be talking to Charlie but to _Anna._"

"But of course!" Hermione cried enthusiastically, "We can first determine what she remembers and how she remembers it and then how she feels about him!" She whirled around and practically ran towards the coffee shop where they had seen Anna. 

The table at the window was abandoned. On it, there was only a half-eaten chicken roll beside a nearly empty cup of coffee.

Ron looked at the table and then at his wife's disappointed face. "Maybe we should have asked her to wait while we fought", he then said sarcastically.

"At least this proves she _does_ remember things she shouldn't."

"Would be nice to know what she will be doing with that knowledge."

She was going to retaliate, but suddenly froze and paled. "Ron... do you think they know at the Ministry? That the Obliviate failed, I mean? "

"I don't think so. Unless someone tells them, and I'm certainly not going to. And anyhow, I don't think it _failed_." Ron was thinking hard, running his hand through his hair.

"What do you mean?"

"Charlie can't lie for his life and Harry was there with him. They Obliviated her all right."

"But how is it then possible..."

"She knew why they came. Harry told she said it at once. She knew about Obliviating."  Ron stopped for a moment and asked then:"What would you do, Hermione, if you were without your wand and you couldn't run away and you knew someone was coming in a few hours to Obliviate you?"

"Well...I would naturally...", she stopped in mid-sentence," Damn it, Ron! You're right! How didn't I see it?! Why didn't anybody tell me she knew?! Crikey! God! Merlin!" She was dancing around on the pavement in her frustrated excitement and it wasn't for long that Ron could keep on his prentence of being serious. Gradually she calmed down enough to grasp the biggest problem in hand: "This may change it all. So, what are we going to do, then?"

Ron wiped the grin off his face and concentrated. He hesitated for a moment, weighing different options in his mind, trying to find one that would satisfy Hermione as well as himself, be useful when thinking about the bigger picture and possible to accomplish. At last he said: "Maybe we could go to see Charlie and feel out a bit, see how he is doing."

Even with his long legs, Ron had it hard to keep up with Hermione as she purposefully strode towards the Leaky Cauldron from where they could Apparate without being seen by muggles.

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Hmmm...I didn't really let you off the hook, did I? Nothing got solved here. A new cliffhanger with practically the same situation. They were going to see Charlie at once, but Ron and Hermione just took over this chapter, sorry. Well, maybe we needed to see their thoughts about the situation.

 Weird, I like to write them, even if I'm not very comfortable about how I'm succeeding at it. I think I could write them in character as teens, but the years between 15 and 25 really change a person. Those of you who are as old as I am, should know. So I'm sort of balancing between the characters as JKR has left them and my idea of how they would age...sorry if they seem OOC to you. I'm going to update soon and then there will be things happening...there are only 2-3 chapters left, I think.

_We're nearing the end here_

_The plot doesn't bend, dear_

_It drags on so stiffly,_

_no glamour, no swiftly_

_changing scenery, no!_

_It's  a train on plateau_

_firmly on its tracks, though_

_not knowing where it'll go_

_Neither am I –nor you_

_D'you wanna know? Review!_


	14. A LifeThreatening Situation

disclaimer: Still not mine.

a/n: Well, I didn't update so soon, did I? Sorry. But it's a long chapter and we are nearing the conclusion here. Big thanks to all that read and special ones to those that reviewed! **Vireco – **so you are writing review poems , too? Great! **Snuggle the muggle – **don't apologize for not reviewing _every chapter! It's great that you read and review, and it's certainly not compulsory to review...;) (even though it's very nice and heart-warming and encourages me greatly). We don't see yet what happened to Anna, but instead, if I may present you: Charlie makes a decision:_

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**A Life-threatening Situation**

One Charles Archibald Weasley, a man of the world, a dragon tamer, a war hero, an adventurer, a charmer (at least in the sense that he used charms) was sitting by the pond in the garden of his childhood home and – whittleing.

He didn't know, exactly, _why_ he had once again returned to his parent's house instead of his own after his disastrously finished meeting with Seamus Finnigan's father, but he _did know why he was whittleing. Of all the sensible pieces of advice Sean Finnigan had offered him, only one seemed to be possible to follow at the moment. The others would have needed Anna's participation or at least her presence. Therefore, right now, he was "learning to do something with his hands, in order to understand her better"._

The blunt little knife attacked a piece of wood forcibly. It wasn't like he hadn't ever done anything with his hands; one couldn't play Seeker without hands, could one? And he wouldn't have got his hands all burnt up with the dragons had he only used his wand from afar. And garden gnomes, they were grabbed with _hands and with __hands they were tossed over the hedges. Nevertheless, he had to admit to himself that after his early childhood, he had __made barely anything without his wand._

Hands were used for exercise and manual labour and sports; all important things, all things requiring some skill, were handled with magic. Quidditch and potion-making were about the only exceptions he could think of. Not many wizards even draw pictures, and if they did, the drawings were at least animated or manipulated in some other way using magic. Doing tasks the Muggle way was used as a punishment at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake!

Leaving the Finnigan's house on the previous day, he had been filled with dismay. The only thing he could have thought of had been the throbbing feeling of total failure inside him. He had been broken down before his gigantic, uncorrectable error. Then determination had stepped in. Grim, solid, all-conquering determination. Maybe he couldn't repair what he had done, but he would do something. Anything. He would punish himself, he would learn from his mistakes, he would find a way to somehow make up what he had done to her. He didn't know yet how, but he would. And so he whittled a piece of wood with the knife his mother daily spelled to peel vegetables.

Having reminded himself of his decision he felt better, calmer. He concentrated on the piece of wood in his hand and the knife moved slower and with more precision. The wood felt warm in his hand, almost alive. His knife, as if not so blunt anymore, found the way to smooth it gently. He didn't need pressure, his hands would move without his brain telling them what to do. The deep and piny fragrance of freshly cut wood reached his nostrils as the piece slowly shaped itself into a small animal figure.

The little wooden cat on his palm had only three legs and they were all of different length. Its tail began from the middle of its back and its head was more than lop-sided. Charlie didn't notice these little faults, though. Or rather, he noticed them all right, but still felt proud over accomplishing  something that even remotely resembled a feline. He scrutinized his work of art and started carefully to file off its third ear.

Abruptly, his knife slipped and he cut his palm. A long slash appeared on his flesh. Blood ran along his wrist and dripped on his robe. Automatically, he reached for his wand to heal the wound. Then he stopped with the wand in his hand. If he had been a Muggle, he couldn't have healed the cut. What would he have done? He hazily remembered something about disinfectant liquids and bandages or... plosters? He didn't have those, though, so he just pressed the sleeve of his robe on the cut and watched the blood slowly oozing through the fabric.

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"Charlie!" Hermione's voice echoed in the obviously empty apartment.

"I think he'd answered the first time you yelled. Or at least the fourth. Maybe we can establish he isn't home," Ron watched as his wife continued to look around like expecting his older brother to suddenly appear from the cupboard or from under the bed.

"Then where is he? He didn't go to work this morning."

"Well, he wasn't supposed to. He had a month's holiday, remember?" Ron answered calmly. "Listen, love, maybe we should just let Charlie deal with his problems himself. Maybe we shouldn't meddle-"

"Ron! Please, you didn't see him yesterday! I'm worried about him, I really am. The least we can do is_ try_ to help him. Them. Anna didn't seem very happy, either."

Ron looked at Hermione's pleading eyes and gave in: "Well, all right then, I guess. We could check the Burrow next and then Fred's and Angelina's, if he's not there." He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when he heard a soft "pop" and his wife disappeared from his sight. He sighed and followed suit.

When he Apparated in the kitchen at the Burrow, Hermione was already questioning his mother trying to conceal her fervour: "So he's here?"

"Yes, dear, he came home yesterday evening. He looked a bit ill, poor boy. But I guess one can expect as much." There was a slight element of bitterness in her voice: " When the person you love leaves you with no explanations, it's not something that's easily born, not even with the help of a pensieve."

"Especially if you don't bloody use it," Ron muttered under his breath, only to get Hermione's elbow to painfully connect with his ribs.

"We have something we would like to talk to him about. Where is he?"

"Oh, in the garden, I suppose," Molly Weasley sighed, "I do hope you can cheer him up."

Ron followed Hermione out into the garden and they soon spotted Charlie sitting by the pond. Ron was just about to tell her he had been right all along and she shouldn't have worried so much, when she suddenly let out a terrified shriek and leaped for Charlie.

"Charlie! No! Put the knife away!" She furiously attacked Charlie, grabbed the little blunt kitchen knife out of his grasp and draw out her wand healing his wounded hand with so much force it almost stopped the blood running not only from the cut but _inside_ his veins as well. Charlie only looked at her, flabbergasted. Ron shook his head. Had he seen correctly? There had been a knife, and blood and...had his brother tried to...

"What the...?" Charlie managed to stutter.

"What the bloody hell you think you were doing?!" Ron heard his own voice crying out, an octave higher than usual. " It would have _killed_ Mum if..." he couldn't even finish his sentence.

"If he would have seen me whittleing and cutting my palm? Blimey, it was only a tiny little wound. Nothing to get your knickers all twisted about."

It was then that they noticed the small wooden figurine on the ground beside Charlie. Hermione blushed when she took a closer look at the knife she had considered so life-threatening: a suicide using it would probably be the most tedious and laborious deadly sin anyone could think of committing. Reluctantly, she gave up her image of Charlie as a man losing his mind over love and herself as a brave and miraculous saviour.

Ron didn't give in so easily, though:" Damn you, Charlie! We thought you were trying to do yourself in! And why were you just bloody sitting there, with blood all over?! You have your wand in your hand, for Merlin's sake!"

No it was Charlie that blushed. He averted his eyes and muttered something incoherent. That didn't satisfy Ron's righteous anger:

"What!? What did you say, you bloody oaf?!"

This time Charlie raised his voice as well: "I _said_ I thought I wouldn't use my wand as the reason I was whitteling in the first place was to identify with Muggle life. I rather thought that resorting to my wand at the first little setback would pretty much ruin the experience."

"Well, Charlie," now it was Hermione speaking, her voice still trembling from the previous shock, "for your information, Muggles don't just sit back and watch as they bleed to death, either."

"Couldn't have guessed myself," Charlie gnarled under his breath.

"And what's this business about identifying with Muggle life, anyhow?" Ron wanted to know.

"It doesn't happen to have anything to do with Anna?" Hermione asked, not succeeding in hiding her enthusiasm.

"Of course it does!" Actually, Charlie was quite happy he had gotten a chance to vent his feelings. He had been the receiving end in quite a few scoldings lately and he was more than ready to pay it back to his brother and sister-in-law. " I'm not going to take this any more! I don't care what you say or what Mum says or what the bloody Ministry says! Obliviating Anna was a damn idiotical thing to do and disgusting and awful and just plain bloody _wrong!_  Hell with the rules! There's no hope she will ever take me back after what I did, but I'm going to confess it all to her, anyway! Let her hate me some more, but I'm not going to leave her there wondering where three weeks of her life suddenly disappeared! Bloody hell, she might get crazy! I know I would."

Charlie stopped, panting, and looked at Ron and Hermione, challenging them to disagree. It was almost a disappointment when they didn't. Actually, Hermione was grinning so widely it was a miracle her cheeks didn't rip and Ron seemed, though a bit dumbfounded by his attack, generally approving of his opinions. Then Hermione's smile faltered and she glanced at his husband, clearly remembering something. Ron's expression changed as well and he looked thoughtful and...well, there was something in that face that reminded Charlie of the time his brother and Hermione and Harry had been having all kinds of secrets because of their daring escapades.

"What do you know that I don't?" he asked, his voice suspicious and slightly menacing, clearly indicating they were better off telling him, and fast.

"Well, Charlie...,"Hermione started, but Ron interrupted her, facing his brother as if saying: _Want to yell at somebody? Yell at me. _

"I don't think you have so much to say that she doesn't know already, mate."

"What do you mean? I _Obliviated _her, you moron! She doesn't remember anything of us, anything of the magical world."

"Well...actually...we saw her across the Leaky Cauldron reading a wizarding book and I think she recognized us," Ron said, looking Charlie straight into eyes.

"What?" again he had been rendered to an stuttering idiot. Well, he wasn't going to take it any more. He wanted explanations. "How? How did she counter the Obliviate? I didn't know it's possible. Did you try to talk to her?"

Ron brave pose wavered slightly. "Um...yeah...but she fled while we were..-"

"We don't think she _countered_ the charm, in the exact meaning of the word," Hermione interrupted her husband hastily, "we think it's more like she reminded herself. You see, I realized it when Ron told Anna had been expecting you to cast a memory spell on her. She had several hours between her departure from the Burrow and your and Harry's arrival at her apartment. How do you think she used that time?"

"You don't mean she...," suddenly Charlie heard Sean Finnigan's voice in his head: _I started to carry a darn tape-recorder with me and tape everything so I wouldn't keep missing bits of my life. Charlie didn't know exactly what taping was, but he made a wild guess: "She...taped all her memories?"_

"She could have done that, yes, but she didn't have a tape-recorder with her here and anyhow, I rather suspect she just wrote it all down."

"But Harry searched her apartment! He even took all my letters to her!"

"He probably didn't search her computer. _I_ would have typed it all on my computer and then e-mailed it to myself, so you couldn't even have removed it without a password or much better computer-skills that any wizard I know has."

Charlie knew about computers but he wasn't very familiar with them and e-mail was almost totally unfamiliar concept to him. He understood, though, that Hermione thought Anna could have succeeded in writing down her memories and hiding them so that Harry hadn't been able to find them. He had learned that Hermione usually knew what she was talking about, so he didn't even bother to doubt her words.

"On top of that, she obviously managed to hide some magical items as well, considering we saw her reading a wizarding book," Ron offered his own contribution to the conversation with clear admiration for Anna's cunning in his voice.

"_And," Hermione wanted to top Ron's revelation, "she evidently also remembered to save on her computer the photographs she had taken here with her digital camera. That's the only way she could have recognized us."_

"So, basically, you are saying she _knows _already what I have done to her?" Charlie grimaced. "Bloody great. She was probably stalking the Leaky Cauldron trying to hire someone to hex me. I mean, she _did order me to do it, but she won't remember _that._" Suddenly, he himself remembered something he had been meaning to ask Hermione ages ago: "Hermione...what's a lobo...loboto..."_

"Lobotomy?" Hermione offered.

"Yes?"

"It's a Muggle surgery formerly used by patronizing and ignorant doctors treating mental illnesses. In practice, they removed a piece of a difficult patient's brain in order to calm them down. The procedure calmed the patient all right," Hermione's voice filled with indignation, " but they usually lost most of their intelligence and personality, as well. The doctors in their _benevolence and __higher understanding even managed to ruin some fabulous, if maybe a bit eccentric artists and geniuses from the world, that way."_

"Oh," Charlie winced and rubbed his neck with his hand. Ron threw a sympathetic glance at him.

"Oh," Hermione repeated almost immediately, "I take it Anna compared Obliviate to lobotomy, then?"

"Uh..yes."

"Muggles haven't used it for decades, you know. It's considered unethical." Regardless of all the sympathy Hermione felt towards Charlie and his situation, she just couldn't stop herself from saying that.

"Thanks a lot for your understanding and support, Hermione", Charlie snapped.

"Anytime," she answered smugly, happy to see him sarcastic, rather than desperate.

Then Charlie shrugged and straightened. His jaw set and eyes serious, he looked at Ron: "I'm not going to play by the Ministry's rules anymore. I'm going to Anna's, she is bound to return to her place some time. If she remembers everything already, she probably doesn't want to see me but at least I can be selfish and try to get some of this guilt off me. I'm going to make her talk to me, I'm going to apologize, I'm going to try to make amends and if I'll need magic to do that, I'm not going to care whether I'm supposed to cast spells in her presence or not."

Ron nodded solemnly. He didn't seem reluctant at all, in fact there was a hint of appreciation towards Charlie's decision in his eyes. "I'll cover your back at the Ministry. And I'll even convince Harry to do the same."

"Thanks, Ron."

"And I'm coming with you," Hermione then declared, looking at Charlie.

"What?!" both men exclaimed.

"She might want to hire someone to hex you, after all," she said, patting Charlie affectionately on the shoulder, "I can do it and then patch you up afterwards. Shall we?" She raised her wand preparing herself to Apparate.

"Hermione," Ron sounded alarmed, "don't you think-"

"No, seriously speaking, we are only assuming how and why she remembers us. It might also be a case of a dangerously failed Obliviation. And if it is, she needs help and you shouldn't go alone. Furthermore, if you'll have to do magic and Ron and Harry can't cover it up, you'll need some one there to create diversion." 

 If Charlie's jaw was set, so was Hermione's and both men knew it was no use to argue with her. Charlie even felt slightly grateful for not having to go alone, as the task he had at hand was much more frightening than confronting a pack of dragons. Especially now that she might remember. Ron, however, couldn't help wondering if behind Hermione's smooth reasoning there really was only a woman curious of his brother-in-law's love life and keen to meddle with it.

Ron didn't have time to articulate his suspicions (which probably was better for him) as Hermione asked: "Leaky Cauldron, then?" and Disapparated with a "pop". Charlie followed suit and he was left alone beside the pond.

It was time to mislead the Ministry and practice some severe rule-breaking. Anything for love, babe.

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There. In the next chapter we will see where Anna went from the cafeteria. And the confrontation is nearing...**gabriel –**I think I know now what will happen....but I don't tell you, yet!

_It's four a.m. in the morning_

_and I'll hereby place a warning:_

_It's a true  possibility_

_that irresponsibility_

_of this author, tonight again,_

_has created, to entertain, _

_some really sleepy-headed stuff_

_of which you may have had enough._

_If you haven't, though, do review_

_and, well, if you had... still, please, do!_


	15. Intoxication in Order

disclaimer: not mine! not mine!

a/n: Sorry, as I have quite a lot of work at the moment, I'm not able to update more than once a week. But we are almost finished, here! Thank you so much for your support! I really appreciate it.

And with no further ado: here we go again:

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**Intoxication in Order**

She couldn't stop trembling as she hurried away from the coffee shop. Had they suspected something? Had they noticed she had recognized them? Would they come after her? Would they tell Charlie? Would they Obliviate her again? Would she lose anew all the memories she had worked so hard to regain?

She couldn't stop trembling. Could she return to her apartment? They would probably find her where ever she went. Should she even try to run and hide from them?

She couldn't stop trembling. No, but she could, too!  She forced herself to calm down. She was a logical person and getting all frustrated and distressed wasn't going to help one bit. She deliberately slowed her pace and refrained from repeatedly glancing over her shoulder to see if some one was following her. First of all, they didn't have any proof of her remembering. Secondly, it was no use to run, as they had _magic_ on their side. She didn't know exactly how they would use the magic to track her down, but if the Muggle police was as good at it as they were, surely with magic one could reach much more impressive results.

She would act normal. She would return to her apartment, and _if they came, she would fake total ignorance. If they didn't have a reason to suspect otherwise, surely they wouldn't use any magical means to confirm her words, would they now? That kind of conduct was probably even illegal; innocent till proven guilty and all that._

 Deep down, she wasn't so certain about it. They had wiped off her memories and that had obviously been a supervised and thoroughly accepted procedure. It was hardly likely that the Magical administration would see it so much greater a felony to make her tell the truth, just in case she wasn't telling it on her own.

Still, she really couldn't see any other possible option to take. It wasn't very probable that they would come, after all. _The Magical Community – Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place_ had strongly assured there wasn't any known way to counter the Obliviate-charm. So, if it wasn't a possibility, they wouldn't even come to think about it, would they? She was overreacting again; she was being paranoid like earlier in the pub. She shook her head and forced a chuckle at her own expense.She had had too much to drink.

 Or maybe too little. Sheila would be coming over and suddenly, Anna didn't look at it like it was a dreadful ordeal anymore. Sheila was coming with booze and chocolate. She certainly could get pissed, now! If there ever had been a situation where total intoxication was in order, this was it. Preferably such an inebriety that she wouldn't be in any condition to speak, as she had way too many secrets to only get tipsy and loose-tongued in the company of her prying younger sibling.

Feeling much better after having decided to aim at the state of self-produced forgetfulness, she headed for the nearest grocery store. Booze and comfort food it was going to be, but for Anna, chocolate didn't qualify as the latter. Besides, it was only four o'clock. Sheila wouldn't come before seven and she needed something to busy herself with. She needed...minced lamb meat, fresh thyme and basil, black olives with stones, feta-cheese, tomatoes, onions, yoghurt, lots and lots of garlic as she wasn't going to be kissing anyone anytime soon...and she could make little pesto-pies for starters...

Her mind busy with composing a recipe for a dinner worth of drowning her sorrows with, she raided the store purposefully. She was on the familiar ground again. She stopped only for a second to pick up the basil and the thyme and inhale the heavy scent of the fresh herbs before continuing. Pine nuts for the pesto-pies, maybe some goat's cheese as well...red wine with the food, as Sheila was certainly bringing something stronger...

An hour later, Anna was back in her familiar kitchen, cooking. She chopped, enjoying the way her knife moved so swiftly her vision of it blurred. She stirred, her hands feeling competent and trustworthy and her kitchen tools like beloved old friends. She mixed the minced meat, some yoghurt, crumbled bread and an egg with herbs and other spices, brandishing her skills at seasoning by artfully tossing it all together. She drowned her fingers deliciously into the meatball paste and savoured the sensation. She was making her own magic. She fried, she cooked, she baked and the scents of her makings filled the apartment with their heavy enchantment.

 By the time the jasmine rise was boiling and the Greece casserole simmering in the oven, she had consumed several glasses of "full-bodied, rich-flavoured and round" red wine and was starting to feel pleasantly warm and dizzy. It was almost seven already. Sheila would be coming any moment now. With food on the table, they wouldn't have to talk at all. They could just eat; Sheila would offer some nice compliments on her cooking and by the time her baby-sister would start on the subject of one Charlie Weasley, she would be safely beyond comprehensive conversation.

An hour later, her plan was working splendidly.

"Anna, you really are a witch with food!" Sheila exclaimed and she only giggled, startled but not hurt by the comparison, as the food and the wine had created a nice, warm cocoon around her and the bad memories couldn't touch her.

Sheila had burst in, insisting on talking about Charlie, but she had sidetracked her. _Please, not now, she had said, __let's wait until we're all plastered. The food is ready and I don't want to spoil my appetite. Sheila had obviously thought her to be "a good sport" about it, and had happily complied, relieved to be spending an evening with the strong and all-coping sister she knew instead of the sobbing and miserable one she had been fearing to confront._

 Anna knew Sheila was now expecting some serious tongue-lashing on the subject of Charlie. She had immediately assumed _he had done something wrong, or at least she was ready to interpret anything that had possibly happened between her sister and her ex-fiance as his fault. Anna didn't know if she should be grateful or disturbed by such a biased loyalty._

Maybe it was because she usually didn't share any of her problems with her sisters or her father. Sheila had keenly seized the opportunity to comfort her in turn, when she herself had so many times before been comforted. Abruptly, Anna realized it had maybe been selfish of her not to let the others help her. She had believed to have spared them, to have thought of their best, of their feelings. But an equal relationship didn't work that way; always the same party helping the other. Suddenly, she wished she could have poured it all out for Sheila to hear. Now she had to create some atrocious lies about Charlie's horrible behaviour in order to not let her well-meaning sister down. Ouch. Maybe after some vodka.

"It's time for booze and chocolate, don't you think?" Anna smiled conspiratorially. "I want to get totally sloshed!"

"That's the spirit, old girl!" Sheila was beaming. "Some prat of a man isn't worth any tears!" Like a woman with a mission, she hurried to the kitchen and Anna could hear her rummaging the icebox and the dresser before returning with a bottle of vodka, a jug of orange juice, two glasses with ice cubs and a triumphant smile on her face. She loaded it all on the table, splashed a generous portion of vodka in both of the glasses, poured the juice in and offered Anna her drink.

"Thanks," Anna said and gulped down half of the mixture with a single swallow, letting the alcohol warm her going down. Sheila grinned encouragingly and reached out to fill her half-empty glass, this time with pure vodka. She watched Anna sipping her now quite a strong drink and seemed to decide that the opening of the booze bottle had been an appropriate starting shot for the _conversation to begin._

"So, " Sheila began, in all but a subtle manner, "he is married then, isn't he?"

Anna had been anticipating the question, but she still didn't know how to answer. That _was what she would have thought herself, had the Obliviate worked as it should have. But somehow, she really didn't want Sheila to think something so..._slimy_ of Charlie. He was a decent bloke, after all. He only happened to be a wizard. Without her realizing it, the thought made a whiny little sob broke through and she didn't have to wonder what she would tell Sheila, anymore. Her sister had drawn her own conclusions._

"I knew it! That bastard! I knew it all along! That's why he never took you to his place, isn't it? That's probably where his sweet little wife and their kids are! " Sheila was shaking with rage and for the first time in three days, Anna didn't even try to stop the tears from falling. She was drunk but it didn't help like it should have. Instead of cottoning her up against all the bad memories and feelings, the intoxication she had sought only let her defences down and she didn't have the strength not to care anymore. Sobbing, she listened to Sheila ranting.

"Never trust a man with secrets! He had  way too many secrets and that's never, ever a good thing! Damn it! How could he! That...that..." she couldn't find the words strong enough to fit her mental image of the man who had made her unbreakable older sister cry.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Anna started, and began to fervently wipe her face with her sleeve.

"I'll get it and send them away," Sheila stated, ready to defend her sister,"I'll say you are out."

She jumped up and left for the door. Anna sank back into the couch, grateful for not having to deal with any more people. But her relief was only temporary. Actually, it vanished at the exact moment she heard Sheila scream:

"_You! What the fucking hell are __you doing here!?!"_

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Hermione had been in such a hurry to get going, but once they Apparated in the Leaky Cauldron, she stopped and seemed to think hard.

"Charlie," she then said, "maybe we should wait here for a while. We should give Ron some time to talk Harry into this."

"You reckon he won't do it?" Charlie massaged his neck nervously with his large hand. "You don't think he'll give us away?"

"No, Harry would never do that. It's just that...you know how he still feels half of the war was his fault." Charlie only nodded, grimacing, and Hermione carried on: "I think Harry fears something similar will happen again, and if following some stupid – or even unfair – safety regulations is going to prevent that from taking place, he is happy to comply."

"Yeah. I guess you are right." Charlie sighed heavily and sat down at the nearest table. "I thought about it, myself, when he was so ready to Obliviate Anna."

"It's funny though," Hermione settled on her chair across the table,"He sure was keen to break the rules at Hogwarts. Maybe that's exactly why he doesn't do it anymore. But I think he still is ready to follow his own mind instead of some one else's, given a good enough reason, that is. He didn't _like Obliviating Anna, you know. And Ginny certainly didn't."_

Charlie chuckled at the image of his younger sister raving at Harry, but then sobered. "Anna asked me to Obliviate her. She pushed Harry to make me do it. He asked her whether she was sure. I guess he wanted to honour her own decision when he ordered me to do it."

"Harry hasn't always had that chance. To make his own decisions, I mean." Hermione sat still, looking at her hands on the tabletop.

"Hermione...she chose not to remember me. She chose to leave. Maybe we shouldn't..." he hadn't time to finish his thought as Hermione interrupted him:

"Charles Weasley! You are not going to chicken out of this! She _chose! Like she had a free choice! Maybe she did choose to leave you, but the Obliviate? Hah! You went there to cast the spell and she knew it. She also knew of the law that made you do it. What __choice did that leave her?"_

"None, I guess. None but coming back to me and she rather chose the Obliviate."

"Whining doesn't suit you, Charlie. Stop feeling sorry for yourself." Hermione got up and gestured Charlie to follow suit. "I want the determined Charlie from the Burrow back. If sitting still makes you lose your courage, we'll get going. We'll travel the Muggle way and it'll take us plenty of time to get there."

Charlie didn't ask how Hermione knew where Anna lived. Either he or Anna had probably mentioned it sometime and she remembered it like she remembered everything else. Without a word, he took off his robe and shrank it, happy to have his Muggle clothes underneath. He slipped the mini-robe into his pocket and followed his sister-in-law to the Muggle London and to the nearest bus stop.

They changed buses several times. Charlie suspected it wouldn't have been necessary, but that Hermione did it on purpose, to keep him on the move and to give Ron and Harry more time to prepare. It was nearly eight o'clock, when they finally took off the last bus and Charlie recognized the familiar neighbourhood. He inhaled deeply, straightened his shoulders and started to purposefully strode towards Anna's apartment. He couldn't hesitate now, or he would never do it. Hermione ran at his side, her shorter feet not able to take as long strides as his. Out of nowhere, the thought of Anna walking beside him struck Charlie. She wouldn't have had to run. Her legs were as long as his.

He arrived at the yellow apartment building where Anna lived. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, taking two steps at the time; stopped for a moment to even his breath and rang the doorbell. Hermione appeared by his side, panting from the run. Then the door started to open and Charlie steeled himself to meet either Anna who wouldn't remember him or Anna who would remember it all. He couldn't decide which would be worse.

Maybe that was why he at first didn't realize that the woman opening the door wasn't Anna at all.

"_You! What the fucking hell are you doing here!?!" It took Charlie a moment to recognize the woman. She was Anna's sister...Sharon...no, Sheila. They had met a couple of times but the raving amazon confronting him didn't even remotely resemble the smiling, pleasant young woman he remembered. _

"Excuse us," Hermione tried to politely intervene. It was a mistake, as Sheila now changed her focus on the bushy-haired woman.

"And who the hell are you?!"

"I'm Hermione Weasley and..." Sheila didn't give her a chance to carry on.

"_You are the wife!!! How dare you?! What are you doing here? Planning some kind of sick __menage-à-trois?"_

"Sheila, she isn't..." Charlie began and only began. Sheila didn't let him speak.

"Let me tell _you_, you sick bastard: Anna doesn't want anything to do with you! And if you think she is still pining after you, you are seriously mistaken! She has a new boyfriend, already, one that isn't married!" 

Charlie heard the words and at the exact same moment his eyes caught a movement behind Sheila. It was her. Anna. Her eyes were red and swollen and she looked disheveled and sad and scared.

 Scared of him.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Charlie didn't hear a word.

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I just had to leave it there. Sorry. Only one chapter to go. Or possibly two. By the way, during the few last chapters Anna has seemed like quite a little drunkard. She isn't normally, okey? And drinking yourself to oblivia isn't recommended by me, either;) Finally, an other little inside information about this chapter, something you probably noticed already:

_I'm writing about food_

_while dieting along_

_I, even, don't include_

**_all _**_goodies that I long._

_I'm suffering here, folks!_

_Please, hurry, ease my pain_

_I so much try to coax_

_you to cheer me up again._

_The words you write ain't food_

_I know and understand,_

_but they do help my mood_

_and let me write as planned._


	16. Thou Shall Not Fear

disclaimer: still, not mine! Isn't that great? No resoponsibility whatsoever!

a/n: This was really hard...I know I told a couple of chapters ago that I had made up my mind about the end, but when I tried to write it, I realized I hadn't. Oops. This chapter was really, really difficult to write and finally, I just let it write itself. I have no idea how it came out J Weird.

Anyhow, many thanks again to all my readers and especially my reviewers. Esther – I'm flattered. Romm – is this chaotic enough or what?

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**Thou Shall Not Fear**

_You! What the fucking hell are you doing here?!!_

She had known at once who it was at the door. There wasn't any other person at whom Sheila would  yell like that. She hadn't wanted to move, but her legs had carried her to the hall and she had seen him right away. He had come. They had come. Hermione had told him. They knew. They would Obliviate her again. And she couldn't even fake it all, not when she shouldn't have remembered how he looked like and Sheila had just recognized him. In her alcohol-dazed mind, she vaguely thought how short-sighted Charlie had been when he had altered her memory of his appearance – others had seen him, too, for God's sake! How was she supposed to fake that the Obliviate had succeeded, now?

It was all his fault. That she couldn't lie. That she had to look at him and see a stranger, one that was familiar only from the photographs. That she was too drunk to think straight and find some way out of it. It was all his fault and now he was going to mess with her mind again and Sheila was there, too, and they would do it to her as well, and it would be her fault even though it was all his.

And then she heard Sheila yelling something incomprehensible about threesomes in French and her new boyfriend and suddenly, she felt guilty as if it wasn't all his fault but hers. And then it became horrendously important to let him know that she wasn't to blame, that she didn't have any new boyfriend, that _she hadn't betrayed __him._

She was afraid. Afraid of the memory charm. Afraid for Sheila. Afraid of Charlie thinking ill of her. For some unexplainable reason, the words that she blurted out of her mouth had most to do with the fear that should have been the lessest of them all: 

"Sheila! He isn't married. And- and I co-couldn't have gotten myself a new boyfriend in only a couple of daysh." Sheila was only staring at her. So was Charlie. And Hermione. There had been something wrong with her statement. She hadn't slurred much, had she? She had said all the words in the right order, hadn't she? Maybe she hadn't explained it properly. She tried to elaborate: "It's too short time, too short to find a new man."

Sheila and Hermione spoke at the same time. Either of them speaking would have been enough as both of their questions made it clear to her what she had said wrong:

"A couple of days!? You said you broke up three weeks ago?" That was Sheila.

"A couple of days? You remember then, don't you? Did you write it all down?" And that was Hermione.

Damn! Damn! Damn! _Why_ had she drunk so much? Had she been sober, she wouldn't have blown her cover right away. Had she been sober, she would have_ now_ thought of some explanation, and not just stood there, looking stupid. Stupid, and probably scared, too, because she was. She was drunk and she was scared and Charlie still hadn't said a word and he didn't look like the Charlie she remembered and no matter how much she had studied the photographs, he still appeared unfamiliar and it hurt. It hurt. Why had she drunk so much?

"Anna? Have you been drinking?" Of course, now they could read her mind, too! Hermione had jumped right into the core of her problems. Somehow,  Anna figured it was something the other woman did often enough.

"What's that to do with you?" Sheila hadn't abandoned her position as Anna's guardian, but Hermione didn't bother to answer her. Instead, she turned to Charlie.

"Charlie, she is drunk. You can't talk to her if she is drunk. It's not fair. Not to her and not to you."

Charlie nodded dumbly. His head was heavy. Only thing he could think about was Anna being scared of him. Scared of him and apparently going out with some Muggle already. Or that's what Sheila had said, anyhow. What Anna herself had said, he didn't really know. He had concentrated on the fact that she _was there, not on her words. He understood what Hermione was telling him, though. Anna was drunk and upset and seemingly hysterical. She needed to be calmed down and sobered before they could talk. He drew his wand, ready to cast a simple calming charm and then a wit-sharpening spell, which would, if not totally undo her intoxicated state, at least let her use her brains and consideration as if she was sober. He wasn't prepared to Anna's reaction, though. When she saw his wand, she started to scream._

"No! No! Don't! Please! Let Sheila go! She doesn't know anything! NO!"

Startled, Charlie lowered his wand. She didn't think he would hurt her? The he winced. Of course she did. He _had_ hurt her before, hadn't he? Sheila obviously also saw him as someone capable of violence:

"What have you done to her? Why's she so terrified? What's that thing in your hand?" When he didn't answer, Sheila set her jaw and announced: "That's it! I'm calling the police!"

Both Hermione and Charlie lifted their wands instinctively, ready to stop her, but Anna's scream made them hold back.

"NO! Don't! Sheila, you too, don't! It's not like that. Y-you should go now. Please, Sheila."

"I'm not leaving you here with them!" Sheila stared at Charlie and Hermione with an expression of growing distrust and anger on her face. Looking at her and then at Anna, Charlie suddenly realized what Anna dreaded so.

"Anna," he tried to keep his voice calm and soothing and not to scare her more, "I wasn't going to Obliviate you. And Sheila can stay. We won't do it to her, either. She may hear it all, if you wish."

"What were you doing then? With...your..that?" Anna gestured wildly towards his wand. "And what about the Ministry?"

"I only tried to sober you up a bit, so that I could talk to you." His eyes begged her to believe him.

"Ron and Harry are taking care of the Ministry. We are fooling them." Despite the situation, there was a hint of pride and enjoyment in Hermione's voice. "Those spells Charlie wanted to use are really quite harmless. You would only feel better and your mind would be clearer."

"No! You are not messing with my head anymore!"

"Fine, we won't. I promise." Charlie slowly lowered his wand to the small table near the door. "See? I put it here. I won't use it. Hermione, put yours away, too." She complied, but then Sheila awoke from her momentary stupor.

"What are those sticks? Stunners? How have you messed with her head? Have you given her drugs?"

"No. Nothing like that." Anna felt dizzy, and it wasn't only because of the alcohol, anymore. This was all too much. This wrong-looking but right-sounding Charlie, Hermione relishing on fooling the Ministry, Sheila screaming...and she had panicked and it wasn't something she was used to do. She hadn't even cried about it before tonight and suddenly, she had panicked. Now the panic had left her, as quickly as it had come, and she was no more scared, but tired and nervous and confused instead, and her head was weighing a ton. "Sheila, please. I'll explain it later. I just...oh...Charlie...if I have to talk to you, I'd better drink some coffee first. And take an aspirin. I don't feel so good."

"You don't have to talk to me...if you don't want to, that is." His voice was low and timid and Anna found herself feeling sorry for him.

"No, it's all right. I guess it's better to get it over and done with." She whirled around and left to the kitchen, gesturing Sheila to sit down and wait, when she tried to follow her.

Charlie and Hermione followed Sheila into the small living-room. Awkwardly, the trio sat down, Sheila on the heavy armchair near to the kitchen door, as if guarding it, and Charlie and Hermione on the couch. They watched each other in the silence, listening to Anna moving around in the kitchen. Charlie massaged his neck with his thick fingers. This really wasn't what he had had in mind when he had decided to come to talk with Anna. He had expected anger and fury and shouting, not fear and tired resignation. And he certainly hadn't expected her to be drunk.

The whole situation was so absurd it would have been funny, had it not been such a nightmare. He had come to talk to the woman he loved, to apologise, to maybe, hopefully, try to make up with her. Instead, he was here, waiting for her to sober herself up with some obscure Muggle methods, sitting on her living-room couch next to _his meddling sister-in-law (who had been uncharacteristically passive in her actions after she had been thought to be a part of a wanna-be _menage-à-trois_), across of _her_ sister, who thought he was a cheater, a pervert, a drug-dealer and violent on top of that. Fucking brilliant. _Well done, Charlie_, he told himself._

Anna poured the water into the coffee-maker, put the filter in its place and measured the coffee in. She watched as the first drops of the dark liquid started to fall into the pot. He had come. He had come and he wasn't going to Obliviate her. He wasn't going to Obliviate Sheila. He had promised and Anna believed him. He had never lied to her – apart the Great Big Lie of him being a Muggle, but paradoxically, she didn't feel that it counted.

 Why had he come, then? He had looked sad, or maybe guilty. Had he come to apologise? Did he want to make up? Inside of her, something jumped of joy when she thought about it, but she firmly told it to stay put. Nothing had changed. If he was ready to trust her with their secret, they could maybe be friends, but nothing more. Anna sighed. She wasn't sure if she could be friends with Charles Weasley. It would be pretty hard to be friends with someone you wanted to touch and hold and kiss and make love to. All the time.

She shuddered, then turned abruptly and went to the sink. She splashed some cold water on her face and swallowed two aspirins. She wasn't so drunk. She had only had a half a bottle of wine and one strong shot of vodka. She could get herself together. Her behaviour earlier had been...embarrassing. Embarrassing and weak. She could handle this. She grabbed the coffee-pot and poured herself a mug, not bothering with the coffee dropping on and angrily hissing on the hot-plate of the coffee-maker. She could at least explain. She owed him that.

She gulped down the coffee, not really noticing when it burnt her mouth. Then she exhaled determinedly, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and strode towards the living-room. Her head up and gaze focused, she interrupted the three voices that started to talk simultaneously the moment she appeared in the doorway.

"Charlie," she snapped firmly, making him involuntarily straighten up on the sofa, "you said I could tell Sheila?"

"If you are sure she can be trusted," he answered, returning her stare levelly. She turned her head away, though, and walked to the table, picked up a glass, filled it with vodka and handed it to Sheila.

"Drink up. You are way too sober to believe a word of what I'm going to say." Sheila tried to object, but Anna wasn't going to take no for an answer: "Do it! And don't say a word, just listen." Anna took a deep breath and started to talk. Her voice was even and her articulation clear. She kept her eyes focused on Sheila like challenging her sister to interrupt. Sheila didn't, and Charlie couldn't help thinking he didn't know anyone that would have.

"I didn't break up with Charlie three weeks ago. It was two days ago. It had nothing to do with him being married, because he isn't. Hermione here, she is his sister-in-law. I left him because he is a wizard, his whole family is. Yes! Actual wizards and witches, they do exist and I have proof!" Without losing her eye-contact with her sister, Anna reached for her handbag, pull out a small book and a torn photograph and shoved them to Sheila, who gasped and almost dropped the book when noticing its moving pictures.

"It's not his fault. I just couldn't carry on. I can't marry him and live with them, when I'm totally useless there. I can't get the lights on, you know; I can't use the stove, I can't travel like they do. I'm not magical and in their world, there's no use for people without magic." Charlie had guessed she thought like this, Sean had explained it and he had understood, but listening to Anna say it herself made his chest ache. He wanted to say something, something he had come here to say, but he felt he couldn't interrupt. She carried on, her voice strained but clear: "When I left Charlie, he had to modify my memory. It's their law. Only people that are part of their world are allowed to know about it. He wiped out my memory of him being a wizard and everything magical I had seen. But I had known it beforehand and I didn't want to lose a part of my past. I wrote it all down. I saved the pictures and I hide things, like that book and that photograph. Now...I  still don't _remember_. But I know what happened."

She went silent for a moment, but Sheila still didn't speak. She just stared at Charlie, then Anna, then Hermione and finally, the book on her lap again. Anna spoke softly now: "When they came here, I thought they had come to do it again. I was scared. I thought they would Obliviate you, too." Sheila started, but she didn't let her talk. "It's all right. They promised they wouldn't. In fact, I don't know why they are here." Now she looked at Charlie and he rose.

"I wanted to talk to you. We didn't, after you left. And I wanted to apologise." He stood still, hoping against hope that she would agree to listen.

"You did what you had to do. You have nothing to apologise for." He closed his eyes tight and tried to keep the pain from showing on his face, when he heard her sighing. " But...I guess we could talk. I should have talked to you before I left. I'm sorry."

_She_ was sorry? And she had agreed to talk. Charlie swallowed and steeled himself to say everything he had been planning to, when a small giggle from behind him made him remember they weren't alone. He turned around and found Sheila sitting in the armchair, her eyes wide and her shoulders shaking, laughing hysterically.

"Wow....oh,wow....those stunners..they are wands, aren't they?! Oh, my....wow...wands! ....bloody...damn...wands...you just...wave...them..." she almost made herself fall from her chair as she enthusiastically waved her hand in the air and her giggles didn't cease. Tears were falling on her face and she was holding her stomach and trying to breath trough the fits of uncontrollable laughter. Charlie looked at Hermione in despair and she rose, going to Sheila.

"Sheila, come on, let's go to the kitchen. I'll make us some tea," she coaxed soothingly, like talking to a small child.

"Make tea? With your wand?" Sheila broke down with giggles once again.

"If you like me to." Hermione took hold of her arm and started to lead her towards the kitchen. " I can tell you some more about magic, too."

"Magic!" she shrieked giggling and would have collapsed had Hermione not kept hold of her arm.

Charlie watched them go and then forced himself to meet Anna's gaze. This was what he had come here for. He knew what he wanted to say and they were alone at last, so he should just say it. She didn't look drunk anymore, and she certainly hadn't acted like a drunk when talking to Sheila. She didn't seem scared, either. She was the Anna he knew, the Anna he loved, the Anna he wanted to just hold and keep close to him. Why didn't he speak, already? What had Sheila said about her seeing some Muggle? Why was she looking at him like that? 

Why didn't he speak, already? He was the one that had wanted to talk. She didn't. Anna felt her resolve weakening second by second as the silence stretched on. That wouldn't do. They would sit down and talk about it like two reasonable adults. It was healthy and mature to discuss things. A relationship as long as theirs should not be left to end without a  proper discussion. She should start if he wouldn't. She would say something simple but expressive, something to put them at ease, to break the ice.

"S-so?" she stuttered.

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a/n: I know, I know! I'm sorry! I said I had to let the chapter write itself and Sheila was there and Anna was drunk and she was afraid they would Obliviate her. Not the best circumstances for a meaningful discussion, eh? And I think they both deserve one, nevermind how this is going to resolve. (I'm still struggling...)

 So there will be one more chapter. I just couldn't get it all to fit into this one, or if I had made it, you would have had to wait for a week more. I'm a quite slow writer, not being a native ;) Anyhow, I would really appreciate some comments on this chapter – especially if you have some criticism or you think something important has been left unfinished. Ending this little story has proved to be much more difficult than I thought it would.

_The story still isn't over_

_the plot, like angst-filled tower_

_is dangerously shaking_

_and the author is waking_

_from her nightmares to see_

_if there really can't be_

_a way to see this to end_

_and also possibly send _

_something to steady the plot._

_It would help quite a lot_

_to hear your opinions, too_

_It's chaos here! Do review!_


	17. On Equal Terms

disclaimer: Still, not mine!

a/n: At last, an update! It really took some time, sorry. I have been having these 14-hour working days and writing this took me hours. I'm slow. Hey, I'm slow writing Finnish! But anyhow, here it is, and it's almost twice as long as my other chapters. I hope its length won't bore you to death ;) Esther: they sure won't overcame it all in one chat...;)

But here you go: the Talk:

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**On Equal Terms**

_Why didn't he speak, already? He was the one that had wanted to talk. She didn't. Anna felt her resolve weakening second by second as the silence stretched on. That wouldn't do. They would sit down and talk about it like two reasonable adults. It was healthy and mature to discuss things. A relationship as long as theirs should not be left to end without a  proper discussion. She should start if he wouldn't. She would say something simple but expressive, something to put them at ease, to break the ice._

_"S-so?" she stuttered._

The second it escaped her mouth, she cursed herself. That sure was eloquent. One syllable. And even that she hadn't managed to utter without stutters. Anyhow, she had said the first word, she had taken the initiative; the ball was on his court now. Except that he still didn't seem too keen to play. They remained silent until hysterical giggles and loud applauds from behind the closed kitchen door made both of them jump. He winced visibly and finally opened his mouth:

"Umm...Anna...could I...could I cast a silencing spell on the door?" 

"I guess," she smiled uncertainly. "It's probably easier to talk without listening to that." She watched as he went to gather his wand and pointed it at the door. "Does it work both ways?" she asked before he had the chance to do anything.

"Well, yes. Or I thought I'd make it. I'd rather they wouldn't listen to us, either." He looked at her as if asking her permission and she nodded. "_Silencio!" he then exclaimed and the giggles stopped abruptly. He felt uneasy about using magic and maybe alerting the Ministry, but Hermione had obviously been showing Sheila some spells already, if the applauds were anything to make conclusions from, and if Hermione trusted Ron and Harry to be able to cover for them, so would he. Instinctively, he slipped his wand up to his sleeve. It wasn't as easy with the Muggle clothes as with his wizarding robes, but he had been used to carry it there and had even made Molly spell a little pocket for it in all his Muggle shirts. Then he turned back to Anna. She seemed disapproving of something. He was just about to ask her what it was, when she spoke:_

"Would you mind?" Her voice was cold, but he didn't understand what she was referring to. She had said he could cast the spell, hadn't she? "I thought we were to be on equal terms here," she snapped. "I don't have a wand, if you don't recall."

"But- I wasn't going to use –"

"Wasn't going to. Exactly. I've been reading this," she showed him the little leather bounded wizarding book, "and according to it, you wizards use your wands all the time without even realizing it." She opened the book, found a place she had obviously marked earlier and read aloud: "_In the wizarding society of today, wand-magic is extremely widely used in the quotidian life. Apart from the mundane tasks, like washing dishes, cooking, shaving, arranging hair or applying make-up, magic has an important role in the social life, as well.  Magic is practised when wooing, jesting  or celebrating, and it is not a rare occurence for wands to appear when  displays of more volatile emotions take place, either. A quarrel between a husband and a wife is rarely solved without at least one or two random minor spells, and in an unfortunately large number of times, more severe magic is used in the heat of the moment."_  She closed the book and stated calmly: "I don't have a wand and I can't reverse whatever spell you cast on me, whether accidentally or in purpose. I guess it's not so bad if the other party is a witch, but fighting with a Muggle using your wand is like...playing football with a person who has no feet."

Charlie took his wand and placed it back on the small table near the door. He knew she had a point; he had seen enough fights between his brother and Hermione, and quarrels with Fred or George were downright dangerous without a wand. Still, he wanted to disagree with her. Accusing him of something he hadn't done, something that would have been totally abusive _had he done it, made him want to lash out in his own defence. The pricking knowledge that he _could_ have done it didn't help his irritation. Being wrong and knowing he was wrong only increased his need to falsely deny that he could ever have used his magic against her. He smothered the urge to fight, though, and settled to only saying:_

"I got your point. But I don't know why you assumed right away that we'll start fighting. I don't want to fight." That was true. At least it was partly true. Anna interrupted his thoughts before he could venture any further on the question why he would have wanted to fight with her:

"I'm sorry," she blushed a little, " maybe I overreacted. It's just...I guess you showed me all kinds of nice and fun and great magic while I was at the Burrow. I even _know_ you did and I know I thought it was exciting and fun. Only I can't remember any of that. I've just read it. The only real encounter with magic I remember is how the Obliviate feels after it has been cast on you, and that wasn't nice or fun. So I don't feel comfortable talking to you when you have your wand ready."

Now he felt guilty again. It wasn't like he hadn't deserved the feeling, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. At least he could finally apologize.

"Listen...I'm really, really sorry for that." Great. He hadn't even said for what, damn it! But he would: "For Obliviating you." There! He'd said it. "It doesn't matter you asked me to, it was still wrong. It's humiliating and degrading and plainly disgusting and I should never have done it to you."

His strong words startled Anna. He sounded so serious, so passionate about it. Why? "It's not your fault. I know it's your law. You had to obey. It says so here..." Again she grabbed the small leather bound book and searched for the marked place, reading aloud having found it: "_After the Second Modern Wizarding War, the regulations for safety and security have been found exceedingly significant. Violating these regulations is considered a severe felony - some have called such acts even a treason -  and punishments are prescribed accordingly. _I wouldn't have wanted you to commit a crime."

"Following laws like that is nothing but cowardice! To be human, we have to make our own decisions on right and wrong, even when they aren't in agreement with the current law." He knew he was speaking in clichés, but he meant every single often-heard word of what he said. " I know me saying I'm sorry doesn't help it at all, but I want you to know I have really thought about it and I really see why it was wrong and I'm really, really sorry." He looked at her, his eyes full of sincere pain over his actions.

Anna shifted her gaze away. "I-I forgive you." What else could she have said? She expected him to relax now, after she had given him the absolution he had obviously come to get, but he only seemed to tense more. He was staring at her and it made her feel uncomfortable. What else was he waiting for?

He massaged his neck with his right hand; a gesture she suddenly remembered. It felt weird to recognize a familiar habit on the wrong person. "Anna, I've been a total prat," he smiled nervously, " such a prat I wouldn't even have seen it without some advice from an expert. And I'm not talking only about the Obliviation. I practically kidnapped you to my world and expected you to leave behind yours, including your family and friends and work. Bloody hell, I was so damn condescending I...well...I guess I even thought you'd be happy to." He stopped for a moment and looked at her, but when she didn't say anything, he continued, desperately trying to get her to understand.

"I love my world. I love magic. I was so relieved and happy when I at last could show it all to you and be wholly myself, I automatically assumed you would also prefer my world to the Muggle one. I was damn stupid. I didn't see a thing. Only after you left I realized it hadn't all been so great for you, and it took a Muggle to get me see why. I'm ashamed to say I even thought you'd be happy when you wouldn't have to cook the Muggle way anymore." He grimaced and looked at Anna bashfully. "I guess you really like to cook, don't you?"

"Yes. I do. I like my work, too. And I like being competent and knowing how to do stuff." It was a challenge to fight, but he didn't take the bite.

"Yeah. Me too." Again his hand crept to massage his neck. "I hate it when I can't do something I want to do. I try and try until I get it right. It's hard to imagine having to face something you'd know you can never learn to do, no matter how much you try. It must be hell."

"Yes. It is." Anna felt drained. He did understand, after all. Or at least he tried to understand. It should have made her happy, but somehow it only increased her feel of loss. So what if he understood? It only made it harder. Harder for her and harder for him. Why couldn't he have just stayed blind and impossible? She needed all the reasons she could get to keep away from him.

"I said I've been thinking about it. About us. I found some information and I've talked with this bloke, this Muggle who's married to a witch." Anna couldn't help her heart leaping with hope when she heard him. There were others? Others that had succeeded, even? She forced the hope away. No room for frivolous optimism, now! She kept her face nonchalant when listening to him. " I guess I should have done that _before_ I botched it all. I...when I came here, I admit I hoped you could give me – us – another chance. I know it's lot to ask, after what I did," he hesitated, "and I guess there's really no point even to ask now, when you're already involved with someone else."

His voice carried a nervous pitch, subtle accusation and a weakly veiled question in it. Anna didn't get it. Who was she supposedly seeing? She had told him Sheila had been telling tales, hadn't she? Hadn't he understood? She froze. Maybe she should tell him it was true. He would leave and she'd be safe. If she told him the truth, he wouldn't give up. She knew him, he never gave up when he had set his mind on something. If she gave him even the slightest of chances, he would make her fight hard before agreeing to leave her. A small part of her wanted to make him fight. She wanted to get proof of his affection, she wanted to hear how much he wanted her back.

Either way, lying or being honest, she was being selfish and hurting him. She looked at him, his unfamiliar face with a eerily familiar expression of anguish on it, and she knew she'd had to tell him the truth. Not to get him to try to win her back, but simply because it was the truth and after what had happened, they really should start telling each other the truth, now.

" I told you already, Sheila was lying. She was only playing this game where you hurt others for hurting you and fake you aren't hurt at all. I don't think there's any sense in playing. I loved you quite a lot and for quite a long time. That couldn't just have vanished all of suddenly. It would be ridiculous to deny I still have feelings for you." She didn't met his eyes, she didn't want to see his hope arise. "I couldn't possibly had gotten myself seriously involved with someone else in two bloody days after breaking up with you."

"Seriously involved?" his voice was suspicious now, and it irritated her. Had he the nerve to accuse her of something?

"Seriously or any other way!" she snapped.

"But then..." he started, but she interrupted.

"It doesn't mean I won't, given some time. I really think we'd both be happier if we found someone from our own world. Someone we could be on equal terms with."

"Am I dismissed now, then?" He was angry. She didn't remember ever hearing his voice so cold. "Do you think you can just wipe out almost eight months with that excuse?"

"You actually _did_ wipe out three weeks already!" she shouted back.

"And that was the biggest mistake of my life!" Suddenly, she was happy he had placed the silencing spell on the kitchen door. "I'm not going to do it all over again! Damn it, Anna! I fucking love you!"

It was so absurd, she almost laughed despite her own anger. _I fucking love you! How utterly romantic. She was just about to retort, when he continued, in a calmer tone:_

"Anna, please. I love you, I want to be with you, and you said it yourself you still have feelings for me. I made a terrible mistake, but I'm really ready to amend the best I ever can. Could you even listen to me for a while? Please?"

She contemplated silently, feeling his eyes on her. She had thought she owned him explanations, owned him a chance to speak for himself. It was really her fault they hadn't had this conversation before, when she had left the Burrow. "Well...all right then. I'll listen. But I won't change my mind, and you'll have to listen to me, too."

"Just promise to listen, and to think about it."

She nodded once, and after looking at her shrewdly, he sat down on the sofa. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to sit too near. The armchair was ridiculously far away, though, so she settled on sitting down on the other end of the sofa. She gathered her feet under her and turned half-way to face him expectantly. He sighed, lifted his hand to his neck and took a deep breath.

"Okay...first of all, we could not to live exclusively in the wizarding world. _Or in the Muggle world," he carried on rapidly, seeing she was going to interrupt. "The people I visited, the couple with a Muggle husband and a witch wife, they live in a Muggle neighbourhood. They have electricity and light switches and normal stoves and computers and all that. And they also have an open fireplace connected to the Floo-network, some additional closet-space thanks to enlarging charms – oh yes, and a few garden gnomes in the garden that are invisible to Muggles. As I can Apparate and use the Floo, it would be only fair to choose the place we live mainly to suit your needs. It would be nice if there were some other wizards living nearby and I'd like a garden we could ward so we could play Quidditch with the kids or something, but that's not so important."_

"Kids. How about them? How about our children? Molly told me stories about your brothers and the way they performed uncontrolled magic when they were small. I would be a lousy mother for magical children. It would be dangerous."

"Mostly it's only something small: clothes changing color, favorite toys repairing themselves after being broken, bullying older siblings falling into a puddle, that sort of thing. There are a fair number of Muggle-born wizards and witches and their parents manage it all right. You could talk with Hermione's folks, if you like." He could see she still wasn't convinced, so he added: "And anyhow, who is it to say that I couldn't stay at home with the kids instead of you, if it got really bad. Don't Muggle husbands do that all the time?"

Anna had an almost alarmed look on her face. She reached for the leather bound book. "Yes, but you wizards don't! It says so right here: _In comparison to the western  contemporary Muggle  society, the wizarding one is much more conservative regarding to,  for example, family values. In the modern Muggle world it is not uncustomary for husbands to cook and do the laundry or fathers to stay home and look after the children, but wizards and witches tend to share the household-work very much according to the traditional gender-roles. See? It's not done."_

"If Muggles can do it, we can. And you are a Muggle, anyhow." He had patiently listened to her quote, but immediately after she had stopped, he retorted. Now he looked smug, when she couldn't find a counter-argument right away. "That's settled then. I also understand you can't keep it all secret from everybody. The expert I talked to – yes, the same Muggle bloke married to a witch – he has been fooling the Ministry for years. He really made me see it was worth it to make your own decisions. We can choose those of your relatives and friends that you believe are totally trustworthy and let them in to the secret. To the others we can just explain me and my family work for...a circus! Or we can make...what are they...special effects for the movies or something."

Anna couldn't help giggling. "You'd be rich and famous if you went for the stage or the movies." Then she sobered and remembered what they were discussing. "But wouldn't that make us outlaws? What about Ron and Harry and your father? They work for the Ministry, don't they?"

"Ron and Harry are in it already. They are covering for us as we speak. We shouldn't be doing magic here, you know." Anna remembered the silencing spell and glanced at the door, frightened, but he went on: "And Dad really won't be a problem. Mum might be, following rules is her cup of tea, but not him. Anyhow, we should change the law. I think we could rein Hermione into legal fight for Muggles with ties to the wizarding world. We could call the organization V.O.M.I.T. – Voice Of Muggles In Tribulation." He was chuckling. Didn't he take it seriously?

"What?" her tone carried her indignation cleary through.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it was funny. Hermione just...really can't be let to choose a name for any organization."

"Oh." Momentarily, she was at loss with what to say. He appeared to think he was winning. He had that smug smile on his lips and his shoulders had relaxed. He obviously saw her irritation, as he sobered and looked at her straight into the eyes.  He talked slowly and calmly, in a way that showed he had given some thought on what he had to say.

"I understand you want to continue working. That's great. I know one person isn't worth of giving everything else up. No matter how much you love them. If we sacrificed all we hold important to be together, we would probably end up hating each other for our losses. I couldn't give up my family or my magic, not even for you, 'cause I wouldn't be myself without them. But I'm ready to make other compromises. I can easily forgo living in Hogsmeade and I'm fully able to learn how to use Muggle devices. I will never use magic against you and I can even begin to do the household work the Muggle way, if you like. I think it's worth it. I think you are worth it. I'm willing to try, to really try."

He was so serious, so sincere, and what he said wasn't a folly. Anna felt her determination creeping away like grains of sand through her fingers, and it horrified her. There was no way he was going to win! She had to say something, she had to think of something. She started to speak rapidly:

"I love my work. It's one of the most important things in my life. It makes me who I am. But what about you?" Now she was attacking and his formerly self-confident stance was shaking. "You don't love the work you do now. You only came back from Romania because of the war." He was about to say something, but she beat him: "Yes, I wrote it down. I felt it was important. The one thing you love to do is working with dragons. You turned down the possibility to play professional Quidditch for it. Now the war is over. You could go back. But for me, moving to Romania would be as big a change as living as a witch. If you, because of me, didn't take hold of your opportunity to follow your true calling, wouldn't it be the kind of sacrifice you would end up hating me for?"

For a while he was silent. Then he smiled. Gently and tenderly and she had to look away, because that smile made her long for his love. "Anna. You are right. Dragons are a passion of mine and I'm not satisfied with my current work." She turned back to him, incredulous. That was all it took to change his mind? She felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. But he wasn't finished, yet. "You are right. But know what? It took your perspicacity to make me understand that. You really know me, don't you? Anyhow, they are planning to set up a dragon reserve in Wales, for the Common Welsh Greens. I could apply for a job there. The distance isn't too bad for Apparating."

She exhaled in desperation. "You have a answer to everything!" she exclaimed. "Are you making them up as you go?"

"Partly, yes." There wasn't a slightest hint of repentance in his voice. He shrugged. "I don't know if they are going to build a dragon reserve in Wales. But they might as well be, and if they aren't, I could make a proposal for it. Some of my old friends might be interested, too. I _have _thought about this, you know. Solutions can be found. I'm not going to give up easily." His jaw was set despite the smile that still lingered on his face.

Not easily. Well, all right. She would have to attack with full force then. She wouldn't have wanted to, but if he insisted... She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady, when she started: "What about the estimated lifespan? As a Muggle, I will most probably die before my eightieth birthday. You, on the other hand..." again her hands took hold of the small leather bound book. Charlie had started to hate that book. "_The estimated lifespan of a wizard or witch is noticeably longer than their respective counterparts' in the Muggle world. A powerful wizard, such as Albus Dumbledore, can live as long as two, even three hundred years. Not surprisingly..."_

"Give me that book!" He grabbed the book from her hands and threw it to the floor. "What's your point? For the first thing, I'm not Albus-bloody-Dumbledore; I'm not going to live for two hundred years! Especially if I go back to work with the dragons as you want! Secondly, when the estimated lifespan of a serious relationship or a marriage for you Muggles is two and a half years, why in Merlin's name do we worry about something that won't be even relatively current for forty years? Thirdly, Muggle women outlive their husbands all the time, and I'm already seven years older than you! What's your problem? Since we broke up, I've tried to find a way to make it work, to correct my mistakes, to _try. You, on your part, have obviously only used that bloody book of yours to make up new reasons why it'd be impossible! Why are you so insistent on being miserable?"_

His words sank into her mind like small stones into a puddle of mud; slowly, but inevitably, getting immediately too covered with the muck of her own thoughts to be easily separated from them and thrown back. Why was she insistent on being miserable, indeed? Because that was true, she was. She fought with all her strength when he said anything that could have solved the situation for better. She only wanted to remember all the complications, all the problems. She clung to her misery and didn't dare to give it up. Unhappiness was predictable and uncomplicated. She wasn't ready to believe in possibilities. She hadn't the courage for it.

He had sunk back into the sofa, with his head on his hands. His shoulders were slumped and he was breathing heavily. After all his smugness and determination and anger and confidence, he now looked so...beaten. She watched his red haired head, the perspiration forming droplets on his neck, his large hands and strong fingers, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath. Why was she so afraid? What did she fear? Getting miserable? She already was. Should she dare...?

He still didn't look wholly familiar. He was a mixture of easily recognized gestures and postures with a familiar voice, and strange features attached to an unfamiliar build. Suddenly, she got an overwhelming urge to combine the elements. Hesitantly, she crept nearer him on the sofa.

"Charlie...," she said gingerly, "you look different from what I remember. It makes it...difficult to...believe you or any of this." He only lifted his head and glanced at her, his eyes sad and resentful, as if expecting her to blame him for her incorrect memories. Slowly, she raised her hand to his face. "May I? I think my...body remembers yours, even if my memory of your appearance isn't truthful." He froze for a moment, but then nodded a tiny little nod and her fingers slowly started to caress his face.

He held his breath. Her fingers were cold. He remembered she often had cold fingers, especially when she was feeling nervous. Now they were cold, and smooth, and they hardly touched his skin. He watched her face as she closed her eyes, her concentration apparent on her expression. Her mouth partly open and her brows furrowed she followed his features with her fingertips. She leaned closer, almost touching him. The warmth of her body enchanted him. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her face. It felt like he wasn't breathing at all but it didn't matter if he never got to breath again.

She opened her eyes, looking straight at him. There was awe in her eyes, and caution and longing. He heard her rapid breathing and saw her tongue slipping out, moistening her lips. He leaned cautiously forward, not taking his eyes off hers. "Does it...do I feel familiar?" he asked softly. She only nodded, timidly. "You don't want to stay miserable, do you?" he continued, fearing and hoping and waiting for her answer.

 "No," she whispered and let herself fall into his arms, her lips seeking for his. He took hold of her, encircling her into his warmth, moulding her familiar form into his own. He placed his strong, warm hands on her temples and draw her into a kiss. It should have been easy and well-practised - it was only a few days since their break up - but so much had happened, so much had changed. They found themselves hesitantly searching for the right angle and awkwardly bumping their noses together like two teenagers sharing their first kiss ever. Her other foot had folded painfully under her bum and his back was aching from the way he was leaning forward. 

He was the first to let out a small chuckle and hers followed. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with mirth, and he grinned. "I guess we are out of practise," he laughed, placing himself into a better position and lifting her properly into a comfortable hug.

"My breath stinks," she muttered,"I ate garlic." She tried to turn her head away, but he didn't let her.

"Lucky for you that I'm not a vampire," he chortled,"besides, nothing stinks like the dragons, and I love them, too."

"I missed you," she murmured into his shirt, running her small hands up and down his back and arms as if wanting to make sure he was there.

"Me too." He slowly let small kisses fall on her forehead, on her temples, on her nose, on her ear, on her lips. She sighed, contented, surrendering to the kiss. It was a sweet kiss, full of love and tenderness and happiness. He broke it only to look at her, smiling at her smile. "Will you marry me, my little stinking Muggle?" he murmured softly.

She tensed in his arms and pulled away from his embrace. Her eyes wide and startled she exclaimed: "But...no! No, Charlie, I can't."

Before his brain could even properly register her words, two loud "pops" echoed in the room. "The Ministry!" a male voice yelled harshly.

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Well, it couldn't have been that easy. A kiss may be grand, but it won't solve it all...;) This just doesn't end, dammit! I hope you are not totally bored with it, yet. The next chapter will be the resolving one, that's for sure. I have even written a part of it, already. This one and the next were all to be the last chapter, but it got so long that I had to cut it half, or you would never have seen an update.(And naturally, this way I also got the nasty cliffhanger...) The other part  of this is coming up pretty soon.

Please, tell me what you thought of this chapter! Was it boring? Was there too much stuff? Or too little? If you think some questions have left unanswered, notify me, please!

_I admit – I'm a sadist for a writer_

_and torturing my cast_

_my protagonist must be a fighter_

_to survive all the blast_

_and angst and tragedy I throw on his path_

_but hey! He's a hero-_

_those are meant to suffer the strokes and the wrath_

_of destiny or – oh..._

_yes...me...sorry folks, I punish them in vain_

_for solely laughs and kicks_

_in shameful, desperate quest to entertain_

_so it's for you, these tricks!_

_Respect their suffering,readers, and mine, too –_

_do the right thing: review! _


	18. Invisibilities and Possibilities

disclaimer: No, no, no, it's not mine!

a/n: Okay, here we go. The last chapter. (Except for a little treat that's still coming) This was surprisingly easy to write, even though there were some surprises (even for me, that is), and I'm even pretty pleased with it. I hope you are, too. I can't thank you enough for your support. It's been simply great. But now: the end:

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**Invisibilities and Possibilities**

_"Will you marry me, my little stinking Muggle?" he murmured softly._

_She tensed in his arms and pulled away from his embrace. Her eyes wide and startled she exclaimed: "But...no! No, Charlie, I can't."_

_Before his brain could even properly register her words, two loud "pops" echoed in the room. "The Ministry!" a male voice yelled harshly_.

"They are coming!" Ron panted. "They bought it at first, but now they are coming!"

"We tampered with the files," Harry continued, equally out of breath,"and now it looks like we would have come here to Ob her on Thursday, but then not Obbed her after all, and we told them you are still together and it was only a silly row-"

"-but then they monitored this place, and it was unclear how many Muggles were there and you and Hermione were using magic-"

"-and so they are coming to make a routine inspection."

"_Are_ there other Muggles here?"

It was like watching a tennis match. They were both gasping for air, having apparently run before Apparating, and in their hurry, they were trying to outspeak each other. Anna was bewildered and only half of what they said registered at all. Two men suddenly appearing out of nowhere in the middle of her living room had been enough to slow down her normally quick comprehension. Charlie, on the other hand, exploded into action. He leaped for his wand, pointed it at the kitchen door and shouted:

_"Finite Incantatum! _Hermione! Come out! Ministry is coming!"

The door slammed open and Hermione rushed through, wand in her hand. Anna stood, frozen in her place and could only stare at equally rooted Sheila who could be seen behind Hermione, gazing at the wizards, her eyes wide and mouth open.

"They know about Anna, and that's okay," Ron was hurriedly filling Hermione in, "but we have to hide the other."

"None of us can Apparate away with her, 'cause they already know we are here." Harry was speaking fast and his eyes were shining with excitement and nervousness.

"Harry!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly, "D'you have your cloak with you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Of course!" Hermione cried. "Give it here! Sheila!" She rushed to Sheila, dragged her into the living room, grasped the invisibility cloak Harry was offering and threw it on Sheila. Anna gasped as her sister suddenly disappeared from the sight.

"What did you do to her!?" she yelled and Sheila squeaked something incomprehensible from under the cloak.

"Nothing," Charlie assured them, "she just can't be seen this way."

"She shouldn't be heard, either," Ron said and pointed his wand at the place the squeak had come from. "_Si-_", he started, but Charlie interrupted him.

"No! No magic on them!" He went to the invisible Sheila and pleaded: "Sheila, please, if you don't want your memory modified and us sacked, stay still and shut it. Please?"

"A-Anna?" Sheila's voice trembled.

"Please, Sheila, do as he says," Somehow, Anna found time to think how weird it was to talk to the air in the middle of the room.

"Enough!" Hermione snapped. "Sheila, come here!" she commanded and Sheila obviously complied, as there was some rustle of clothes and Hermione then grasped something beside her. "Stay here, behind me," she instructed and led the invisible Sheila to the corner of the room. "If I do this with my hand," she waved her fingers sharply, "you follow me when I move. Is it clear?"

Sheila didn't have time to answer, as two more "pops" were heard. Two wizards with equally sour expressions appeared. The burlier one nodded shortly towards Ron and Harry.

"Potter. Weasley. I wonder why you saw it necessary to rush here in person. Have something to hide, do you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Peasgood," Harry answered pleasantly. "But you see, they are family, so naturally we are concerned for them."

"No need to be concerned, if everything has been done like it should have been," the old wizard muttered grumpily. Then he addressed Anna: "So, you are the Muggle fiancée, what?"

"Y-yes. Pleased to meet you."

"Have been causing us quite a trouble, you have. In the future, please handle your domestic indifferences privately."

She would have liked to snap _she _certainly wasn't the one who had wanted to make her relationship a public matter, but Mr. Peasgood had already focused his interest elsewhere.

"Ah. Mr. Weasley," he barked at Charlie. "And _Mrs._Weasley as well." Hermione nodded slightly. "I guess Arthur and Molly are in the kitchen, then?"

"No, sir. Nobody is in the kitchen," Ron assured as if not understanding the sarcasm, but the balding wizard didn't let him interfere.

"Hopkirk!" he addressed the younger wizard that had Apparated with him. "Search the apartment. Nobody has left the place after we begin the monitoring, but the number of Muggles here was unclear."

"Yes, sir."

"I can assure you, Mr. Peasgood, there are no other Muggles here." Harry was talking calmly and convincingly."Do you really think that _we_ would endanger the security? We certainly understand its importance."

"Well, yes...Mr. Potter. I guess you do." The older wizard was apparently calming down. "But you know the regulations. This is just a routine inspection."

"Certainly, Mr. Peasgood," Ron offered, smiling.

Hopkirk was rummaging the apartment, walking from room to room and opening doors where he went. Anna felt herself tensing when he returned to the living room and neared Hermione and the invisible Sheila. She deliberately kept her eyes on Mr. Peasgood and noticed that the others avoided looking at Sheila's probable whereabouts, too.

"No one else here, sir." Hopkirk finally announced.

"Well then." Mr. Peasgood took a piece of parchment from his pocket. "According to our records, several spells were performed in this place during the last hour or so. In the living room, there was a silencing spell and then a _Finite Incantatum_ casted."

"That would have been me," Charlie said. "I wanted to discuss things privately with my fiancée and Hermione - my sister-in-law - was in the kitchen."

"Yes. In the kitchen." Mr. Peasgood studied his parchment. "You were in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked Hermione and she nodded. "Alone?"

"Yes."

He took a few steps nearer to Hermione and Anna found herself holding her breath. If Sheila only would keep quiet! "You performed an _Orchideous_ charm, two levitation charms, three _Accios_ and a_ Relashio?_" Mr. Peasgood inquired.

"Yes. I was making tea."

"And why, may I ask, you needed flowers and jets of fire to make tea, Mrs. Weasley?"

"I was bored." Hermione was totally calm and Anna really had to make an effort to keep her expression sober.

"Bored?"

"I had nothing to do in the kitchen, while Charlie and Anna were making up. And, well..." she managed to look a little bashful, on purpose, Anna was sure, "I _did_ had some wine."

"You were drunk?!" Mr. Peasgood looked almost as surprised as Charlie. He obviously knew Hermione from before and even Anna could say getting drunk on a whim wasn't her style. Ron seemed to have difficulties with keeping from laughing aloud.

"No, of course not," Hermione said indignantly, "I know that drunk-wanding is highly dangerous and illegal. I was only bored...and a little bit tipsy."

"Well...you don't seem intoxicated now. And there are no Muggles of class B here." Mr. Peasgood was obviously shaken, but made an effort to cover it up. He even tried to initiate some small talk:"Yes, hrm...and...have you two decided the day yet?"

"No." Anna saw Charlie's shoulders tensing and his voice was strained. "We are going to have a long engagement. It was quite a shock for Anna, finding out about magic."

"Well, yes...I guess it must have been. Congratulations, anyhow, you two."

"Thank you," Anna replied as Charlie didn't say anything.

"Well," Mr. Peasgood coughed,"we'll be going then. Potter, Weasley, are you coming?"

"We'll follow you in a minute, Mr. Peasgood," Harry answered.

"Well..all right then. My apologies for the interference. Good bye, all of you." He nodded to Hopkirk and together they raised their wands and Disapparated. Nobody said anything for a while. They just waited, not daring to relax yet. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"I must say that brought back some memories."

Ron couldn't help himself but broke out laughing. "Just like the old days, eh? Except that you know how to lie now, you sly dog!" Harry just grinned at him and he pull Hermione into a hug and whirled her around.

"And you! _Drunk-wanding is highly dangerous, Mr. Peasgood_!" he imitated Hermione, still laughing. "_I always spell up some orchids while making tea_! That was bloody brilliant!"

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione didn't even try to sound disapproving, but she freed herself from Ron's hold and went to the corner where Sheila still stood, invisible. She grasped the air until her hands met the cloak and pulled it off Sheila. She stood, rooted on her place and stared at the people in her sister's living room. Three men, two with their wizarding robes on, her sister and the woman that just a few moments earlier had shown her some amazing magic tricks. Expect that they weren't tricks. Just magic. Slowly, a grin broke on her face.

"Hello there!" she said perkily. "I'm Sheila, Anna's sister. And you are wizards then, too?"

"Yes." Harry was grinning as well. "I'm Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley, Charlie's brother."

"That's one hell of a cloak you have. I wouldn't mind one myself."

Ron chuckled. "Who would? But as you are going to be a part of the family, you might be able to loan it sometime."

"Yikes! That's a deal!" She turned to Anna: "You made up then? When's the wedding?"

"Yeah, Charlie," Ron echoed, "I'll be damned if you don't choose me as your best man after this!"

They were all feeling so elated after fooling the Obliviators, that they hadn't noticed Charlie's grim expression. Anna had, though, and she was fearing for his answer.

"There won't be any wedding. We made up all right, but she doesn't want to marry me." They all turned to stare Anna. Even Sheila, who only an hour ago had been totally supportive of castrating Charlie, now had the nerve to look at her disapprovingly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, when Hermione stepped forward.

"I...I'm sorry to hear that." She swallowed and glared at her husband, warning him not to say anything. "I'm sure we'll find a way to let you keep your memories even if you won't marry Charlie. The long engagement is a good enough excuse for at least a year."

Then nobody said anything for a while. The elated atmosphere had vanished and people were wary, avoiding direct eye-contact with either Anna or Charlie. Finally, Charlie stirred. He took something out of his pocket and placed it on the living room table.

"Well...I guess we'll be leaving then," he said, not looking at Anna. "We'll have to meet a few times, for the Ministry's sake, but you can bring Sheila with you. Take care." He raised his wand, ready to Apparate, and Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded bashfully at the two women, preparing to follow his lead.

"Charles Weasley!" Anna heard her own voice shouting and Charlie's wand froze mid-air. "You stupid prat!"

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"You really don't want to see me anymore if I don't agree to marry you immediately?" Her voice was firm, but inside she feared for his answer.

"What?! What? You mean...I thought..." the expression on his face was so bewildered Anna almost laughed out of relief.

"You stupid dragon-tamer! I want to be with you, I want to meet that expert of yours, I want to try! But one kiss and making up doesn't mean I'd be ready to marry you right a way. Especially when I now know what a wizarding marriage means." She went to pick up the small leather bound book he had thrown to the floor. "It says here the bonding is a powerful, magical ceremony and hardly any wizarding couples ever divorce."

"I hate that book," Charlie grumbled.

"Hate it or not, it doesn't change a thing." She went to him and raised her hands on his shoulders. "Charlie," she said softly, "I don't deny I'm scared. I am. But you made me see it's stupid to be too scared to even try. I'm willing to try, to really try and I don't want to lose you. Still, I'm not ready to burn all the bridges yet. I maybe dated Charlie Weasley foreight months, but I only dated Charlie Weasley, _the wizard_ for three weeks.  Could we just try first? We could move in together and see if it works out. Before we make the final, magical commitment."

"You mean like a trial run?" Charlie's voice was full of contempt.

"I mean like a start."

"Mum sure won't like it," Ron muttered and earned an elbow in the ribs from his wife.

"She must learn there are other ways to do things," Charlie stated firmly. Anna stared at him in surprise and he grinned. "I guess it's a deal, my little stinking Muggle. But you must promise to really try."

"If you do, too." She gazed into his warm, brown eyes and felt the happiness building up inside of her. He leaned to kiss her, but she remembered their audience and withdrew herself from his half-embrace. She went to the table and picked up the small object he had placed there.

"What's this?" she asked looking at the little wooden figurine.

"Eh...it's a romantic gesture, I guess." His large hand had once again crept to his neck. "The Muggle bloke I talked to, he recommended I should learn to do something with my hands, in order to understand the Muggle life better."

"And you did this?"

"Well, yeah." He was looking uncomfortable now, especially as the others came closer to take a look at the small figurine.

"He even spilled his own blood while carving it," Hermione stated in an overly dramatic voice and Ron sniggered.

"It's not very good," Anna observed studying the little feline on her palm. "It has three ears and its legs are all of different length."

"I know!" Charlie exclaimed, irritated. "I guess romantic gestures are overrated," he then grumbled bitterly, "like serving breakfast in bed when the woman probably just wants to brush her teeth and pee before eating anything."

Anna couldn't help giggling. "You got the breakfast in bed part right, at least when it comes to me. But," she added softly, "I think this is quite sweet. Thank you." She closed her fist around the little wooden feline and brushed her lips against Charlie's cheek. Then she stayed still in her place, studying him.

"What?"

"It's just...the Charlie I remember isn't so much different from you, but it isn't like you had just changed some of your own features to make that memory. It's like he was a real person, you know, not only a disguise for my memories of you."

"Well, it's almost impossible to create a totally fictional character when casting the Obliviate," Hermione stated. "Supposedly, the caster draws the necessary additional images from his or her subconscious mind."

"How does he look like, the Charlie you remember?" Ron asked while Harry busied himself explaining Sheila what they were discussing.

"He is taller than Charlie and has green eyes instead of brown." She hesitated, reminiscing. "His fingers are longer and he carries himself straight. He has the same hair, though, only longer. You could be brothers, I guess."

Charlie, Ron, Harry and Hermione had fallen quiet. She shifted nervously. What had she said? Then Ron reached for his pocket and pulled out a small locket. He opened the locket and showed it to Anna.

"He doesn't happen to look anything like this?"

She looked at the tiny wizarding photograph in the locket. The familiar face stared at her, smiling. She raised her gaze and nodded timidly.

"Talk about sick!" Ron exclaimed. "You made her remember loving _Bill!_"

"I didn't know!" Charlie shouted back, equally shaked. "She said subconscious mind!"

_Bill?_ His brother that had died in the war? She remembered Bill's smile, Bill's eyes.... she shivered. Talk about omens; she was a dead man's fiancée. 

Ron was yelling again:"Why?! Why did your _subconscious mind_ choose Bill?"

Charlie stood silent. Then he said, softly: "I guess...because I loved him...and I lost him. And I love Anna and I was losing her. So, maybe...the two losses got together in my mind. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Anna."

Ron had fallen silent and instead of fury, there was sadness in his eyes. Charlie didn't look at anybody. Anna felt herself aching for him. So what if she had remembered Bill's face? Charlie had loved Bill. He loved her. She moved to Charlie and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Charles Weasley, I'm honoured you let me love your brother," she said firmly, but gently. Charlie looked at her, surprised, and then wrapped his own arms around her and pressed her securely into his hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, tears in his voice, and she kissed him soundly on the lips, not minding who was watching.

"Anyhow," Sheila's voice broke the somber air around them, " it would probably have been much more awkward had she remembered some other brother instead. Like Ron here, I mean."

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically. "That sure would have been awkward!"  Then she laughed and Ron joined her. Harry couldn't help chuckling, Anna grinned and Charlie managed a feeble smile. Sheila was grinning so widely it was a wonder her cheeks didn't rip open. She was obviously pleased with her success at lightening the air.

"I think we are to get out of here, now!" she commanded joyfully. "It's time to leave these love-birds alone! You, folks, can buy me a beer and tell me more about magic!"

"Let's have some butterbeer, instead. I'm sure you'll love it," Hermione proposed, smiling.

"Or Firewhiskey!" Ron offered.

"Do you wizards have any Firevodka?" Sheila asked mischievously and they were all out of the door before Anna could warn her about drinking any more. Then they were alone.

"Well," she said, fingering the little wooden figurine in her hand.

"It certainly seems they are happy for us," he stated. "Or at least they love to fool the Ministry and plan all kinds of mischief. It's nice to see Harry enjoying pranks, again. He had gotten too serious lately."

"Pranks? _Fooling _the Ministry? I thought we were committing a crime and partaking in illegal activity."

"Well, yeah, that too." He grinned coaxingly. "But wasn't it fun?"

"Yes," she giggled. Then they sobered and looked at each other.

"So," he said slowly, "we are going to try?"

"Yes."

"I really want to make it work, you know."

"So do I. But there's nothing else we can do but try."

"So we'll do our best..."

"...because we can't do any better."

"Thankfully, our best is pretty good. And we'll have help." He grinned and took her into his embrace. She let him hold her, inhaling his familiar scent and enjoying his strong body against her own. She thought about everything that could go wrong: his mother, her father, the children, her adjusting herself into the magical world, him into the Muggle one... Then she deliberately stopped herself.

Enough problems were to come on their own. They were going to try.

                                            THE END

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a/n: So. There it was. Hopefully it wasn't a disappointment to you. I felt they had, even when looking at it realistically, deserved more than just an angsty "there's no possibility whatsoever"-ending, but I wanted to stay somehow realistic when going to the other direction, too. I myself don't believe in happily ever afters - at least not without a hell of an amount of work, and I don't think a marriage is a solution or the only possible way to get a happy ending. So there it was. They will try, and we don't know how it'll work out any better than they do. Let's wish them luck.

The part about Bill surprised me, but it just came and I let it come. (In the previous chapter the piece that both snuggle the muggle and mugglegirl thought was nice, came the same way - so I'm not fighting my inspiration anymore!)

**There still will be one more chapter - not exactly an epilogue, but something that well..._came_ to me. A little treat, of which you may enjoy. Check it out in about a week.**

Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I really would like to hear how you felt about the ending.

_ It's finally finished_

_we are parting from them_

_I'm feeling diminished_

_when leaving my gem._

_But new stories are waiting_

_all eager to play_

_I sure won't start hating_

_what ever they'll say -_

_no, I'll listen and hear_

_and write some own words -_

_the new tale is near_

_so sang little birds..._

_Just wait 'til it comes_

_and while waiting, review_

_I'll, loud, play the drums_

_when it will be here, too!_


	19. Possibilities and Speculations

disclaimer:no, never mine!

a/n: hello, once again! Here's the little treat I promised you. Or little and little...it just stretched a tiniest bit... But anyhow: ATTENTION: **the following scenes are possibilities. Some of them are in contradiction with each other, some could happen within the same reality as some of the others. Which of them you believe in, is up to you. Feel free to combine them in your mind, label them as nightmares or view them as utopias not able to come true. Please, do tell me how you felt about them!**

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**Possibilities and Speculations **

******1**** : No Amount of Trying **

She was sitting by the window. There was a cup of coffee and a chicken roll in front of her on the table. She watched the street outside the window. People were strolling by, some leisurely, some in a hurry. Every once and a while her eye caught a figure that stood out from the crowd. The man with a long bear and a prominent nose. The plumb little woman in weird clothes carrying a birdcage. The two teenagers staring at cars in awe.

She smiled each time one of the strange people passed. They were her little secret. She came here every now and then, so that she wouldn't forget what she had once fought to remember. What others had fought for her to remember.

They had broken it up with Charlie after fourteen months of trying. Sometimes she thought they had maybe tried too hard. They had watched each other and themselves constantly, first fearing for mistakes and then hoping for them, as they were proofs that gave them a permission to admit themselves it wasn't going to work.

The others had been disappointed and confused. For them, it was hard to see what had went wrong. As it wasn't for them. Sheila had been devastated, Ron had cursed for a week, Hermione had wanted to talk and analyze it over and over again. The Finnigans had maybe understood it best, and they had been sad. Everybody had been sad.

Well, she didn't think Molly had been sad. Disappointed, yes, but not sad. At least she wasn't sad anymore, when Charlie was married to a witch and they had two children together.

She saw them sometimes. After all, Hermione had convinced the Ministry to let her keep her memories as she was _a close friend of several wizards and witches_. The meetings were awkward but full of warmth. She really liked Charlie's wife and she adored their children. She just couldn't help the ache it produced in her chest or the bile that raised into her throat when she watched them together and thought about what she had missed.

Once she had brought her current boyfriend with her, too. Mainly to lessen Charlie's guilt for finding someone new when she was alone. It hadn't worked, though. Charlie had taken one look at Danny and whispered _"Bill"_. Only then had she seen the similarities.

Sometimes she thought of what could have been. Then she said to herself: _At least we tried. We did our best._

It never helped.

**2: ****Napkins, Napkins**

There seemed to be a billion of napkins. Napkins, napkins, napkins. She folded and folded and felt like an overcharged origami-machine. She grimaced at the napkins. She silently cursed at them. She not-so-silently cursed at them.Then someone chuckled behind her. It was a very familiar chuckle.

"You mind if I help out a bit?" he asked, smiling. "That seems like a routine work to me."

"Well, all right then. Just you make sure they all end up folded the same way."

He picked up one of the swans she had made and scrutinized it for a while. Then he drew his wand, tapped the swan with it, pointed it at the unfolded napkins and said: "_Plerusque!"_ The napkins whirled on the table and started to fold themselves according to the pattern.

She leaned back, watching the napkins, and he lowered his large hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently.

"You could have offered to do that earlier," she complained, moaning when he hit a sore place.

"You could have asked."

They were both smiling. At first, it had been a sore point in their relationship: where he could help with magic and where he couldn't. Slowly, they had established the rules. He was not to touch anything creative she made, if he wasn't really taking part in the creative process, as well. He _could _help with the mundane work, though: duplicating something, cleaning up and so on.

He pulled her up from the chair and into his embrace. She snuggled closer, sighing contently and ran her hands along his arms. He winced and she looked at him shrewdly. There was a large burn on his right arm.

"Charlie!" she scolded, "You are a wizard for God's sake! Can't you get those burns fixed up at the reserve?"

"Nah, I so love it when you fuss about me," he teased. "Besides, it's no big deal, just some affection, courtesy by Dinah."

"Should I get jealous?" she asked, burying herself into his chest again. He chuckled and they were silent for a while, only enjoying each others presence.

"Our try has succeeded pretty well, hasn't it?" he then asked softly. She made a small agreeing sound. "Almost two years." He paused. "You don't think we could get married already?"

She raised her head from his chest and looked at him. "Well, I guess...I don't think it really makes a difference, but parties are always nice."

"So you are not afraid of the commitment, anymore?"

"I think we have commited ourselves quite firmly here."

"Yeah. Nobody thinks we are going to break up any time soon."

"Except your mother. Every time we meet, she looks at me as if fearing I bolt any minute."

"She is trying. It has been hard for her, to learn it's not always her children that are right in their relationships. She is awfully biased."

"I know. I only hope she would be biased for me, too, and not against me."

"Hey, Anna, she made dinner the Muggle way with you last Easter."

"Yes. I know. She is trying."

"And we all do our best..."

"...because we can't do any better."

"Exactly, my little stinking Muggle."

**3:****The Importance of Remembering E.T.**

****

He massaged his neck with his large hand. "Eh...don't really remember that one, sorry."

"You don't remember E.T.? Come on! Everybody remembers E.T! Next you'll say you've never heard of _Monthy Python_?"

"Well..." He _really_ wasn't enjoying himself.

"How about music? _The Queen_? _U2? Abba_, for God's sake?"

"Eh..."

"Where did you spend your youth, mate?"

"_And _the recent years?"

"Hey! You got to remember this: _tadadadadaaa-dadadaaa-dadadaadadadadada-da-daaa..."_

He silently retreated from the group as they all burst singing some weird tune that didn't ring any bells for him. He looked around in the room, trying to find some salvation. It really didn't seem very promising. Apart from the group reminiscing the highlights of their youth – which he apparently should have had shared with them to pass as a normal Muggle – there was a small bunch of older people, including Anna's father, that were discussing the Muggle politics; a gathering of Sheila's friends arguing over art and literature; and some athletic looking blokes absorbed in a heated give-and-take over the fascinating world of the Muggle football.

He sighed as he realized he had already made a total fool of himself in all of the groups. He might have known the basics of the Muggle culture, and it had been enough when they had briefly met Anna's Muggle friends before. It surely wasn't now. The house-warming party they were throwing had forced him to mingle for hours among the strange Muggles, pretending to be one. And Anna couldn't be on his side all the time.

He knew who the Prime Minister was and he had seen movies and had even once watched some football on television. He had been to a play or two as well as a few concerts. That didn't, however, measure up as a normal Muggle background, not to mention being enough to ensure the others that he had any education or even any brains.

He had seen the looks Anna's friends were sending him, and then her. _How come she wants to be with such a moron? -  Must be pity. -  He must be great in sack, if he only grunts when he opens his mouth. – There's no way a guy that hasn't ever heard of Jurassic Park or Spielberg works in special effects..._

That had really been a mistake. When they had decided his cover-story they should have thought about it a bit more. It sure didn't make a good impression to tell you worked in a trade you knew absolutely nothing about. Or if you did so, you should at least choose a very un-interesting trade. Now half of the people here thought he was a lying loser on top of being a nearly illiterate moron. Great.

He should have invited some of his own friends, too. Anna had suggested it, but he had thought it might be a little too suspicious. The Muggles would surely have realized something was amiss, if all his friends had been as weird as he. He still thought it would have been a mistake, but all the same couldn't help wishing there were some people besides Anna and Sheila in the house who would know he wasn't really an idiot. Damn it!  Maybe he was:why hadn't he invited the Finnigans?

When Anna was spending time in his world, people at least knew she was a Muggle and she was therefore entitled to be ignorant of the wizarding customs or history. And anyhow, in the wizarding world, there were always the Muggle-borns, who also didn't know everything that was self-evident to the members of the old wizarding families. In the Muggle world, _everybody_ was apparently supposed to know quite a lot of things simply to be viewed even nearly normal.

Theoretically, as Anna's father knew of him being a wizard, he should have understood why he couldn't take part in conversations about the Muggle culture, politics or sports. However, the old intellectualist was obviously totally unable to distinguish between her daughter's fiance's real intellect and the amount of it he had presented in the discussions during their brief acquaintance. And as most of these discussions had taken place with other Muggles involved in them, his view of Charlie's brainpower, understandably, wasn't very high. 

He had lately even taken on a habit of speaking very slowly when addressing him and only using short words. Anna had tried to explain that though Charlie didn't know what an UFO was, it didn't mean he wouldn't understand words like _unidentified_, but Mr. Richardson didn't seem to grasp it. Frankly, his behaviour made Charlie both mad and utterly nervous and self-conscious at the same time. Still, there really wasn't anything he could do about it. Each time he tried, he made a bigger fool of himself.

What hurt him most, though, was how he sensed Anna was ashamed of him. Or rather, ashamed of  the impression he gave of himself when attempting to pass as a Muggle in front of her friends. He saw the way her friends were whispering to her, glancing at him. He saw how she winced and frowned and explained but was always left without words in the end. He saw how her friends smiled at her, condescendingly, as if saying they understood if she was so desperate she had to settle with someone like him. He saw how she hated it, but couldn't do a thing.

He knew her friends were important to her and she cared about their opinions. _He_ cared for _his_ friends' opinions. Most of his friends liked Anna, though, and he knew her friends' opinions on him couldn't be very flattering. As weren't her father's. He suspected that being ashamed of him made her feel ashamed of herself. 

He was afraid it would all slowly make her hate him.

**4: ****A Celebration and the Return of a Wooden Figurine**

"Well, I think this calls for celebration!" Sean Finnigan's loud voice boomed over the excited chitter of dozens of people. The man himself was beaming with content. Filled with happiness, he seemed to tower high over his actual height and once again, Anna found herself thinking that magic sure came in many forms.

She was busying herself with serving the drinks, Muggle champagne in delicate wizarding glasses, but she still had time to take it all in. How many of them were there: the Finnigans, Hermione's parents, Dean Thomas and his family, the Creevys, the Finch-Fletchleys...as Hermione had once said, it was simply unbelievable that a minority as prominent as them had never before gotten organized.

Now they had. Founding _Muggles In The Wizarding World_, or the MIWW, had immediately proven a truly necessary action. The Muggle parents, siblings, best friends and spouses of wizards and witches had apparently been simply dying to have contact with others in similar situations. Several...well, they could maybe be called _supportive groups_, had sprouted out like they had been just anxiously waiting under the surface, ready to jump into existence.

During the first few months all their energy and enthusiasm had really gone into realizing how many others there were struggling with the same problems. Then they had come to understand they could actually _do _something to some of the problems. Today, the Wizengamot had sanctioned a new law. It stated that Obliviating Muggles already aware of the wizarding world was illegal, same as Obliviating wizards against their will, and each case was to be brought to court where both the Muggle and wizarding parties were to be questioned before making the decision whether it was _absolutely necessary for the security's sake_ to perform the Obliviation. It wasn't much for a two years' work, but it meant a lot to them. A real lot.

"Friends!" Sean's voice echoed loudly without a _Sonorus_ charm. "I propose a toast! To memories and understanding!"

"To memories and understanding!" the crowd repeated. There were tears in their eyes, some for happiness over gaining victory today, some for the more painful but still precious memories of the long-ago war that had treated their kind more viciously than any others.

The bubbling drink tickled her tongue and she smiled at her husband over the rim of the glass. He was beaming with pride and watching him, she felt herself unfairly lucky. Then she chuckled. As if they hadn't fought for their happiness: with themselves, with each others, with both of their worlds. There was nothing unfair in her happiness, not even much luck. They had earned it all.

"Hey, it was worth it, wasn't it?" he asked, as if knowing what she was thinking about.

"Damn sure it was," she confirmed.

 "Mum! Mum! Look what I did!" A small read-haired boy run towards her a little knife in his other hand, the other squeezing a piece of wood which he offered for her mother to see.

"Will! How many times have I said it! No running with the knife!"

"Mum! If I hurt myself, Dad can magic it away!"

"No, I can't, if you stab yourself badly with that thing," Charlie said severely.

 "Okay, okay, I don't do it again," their son assured, grinning a wide and all but convincing smile. "But come on! Look what I did!"

She would have liked to frown at him some more, but she couldn't help smiling. He was so eager and enthusiastic. She took the little piece of wood and almost choked with her chortle. On her palm there was a small wooden feline figurine, very much like the one that had a honorary place on their bookshelf at home. Except this little cat had only two ears, and its legs were all of the same length.

"Hey, dragon-man, your son is better at this than you are."

"Than I _was_, you mean. I'm not so bad anymore." 

"Yeah, right," she snorted and told her son: "This is a very nice little cat, Will. Much better than the one your father made. We can place this beside the other one on the bookshelf and you can tell everybody which one is yours."

"Really?" Will was beaming, but then he looked at Charlie. "You don't get sad, Dad?"

"Because you are a better whittler than I am?" The little boy nodded, studying his father anxiously. Charlie laughed and lifted his son on his shoulders. "Nah, I love it when you are so brilliant! And anyhow, you cheated."

"Did not!"

"Yes, you did. You see, you are a half-Muggle and your old Daddy is just a poor wizard. We really aren't so great with our hands." He was tickling Will and the boy shrieked with laughter. Anna watched them, laughing along. Charlie started to run, zigzagging in the crowd, Will clinging to his shoulders.

"Excuses, excuses!" she shouted after them, but the two men in her life didn't listen anymore, they were too busy raising havoc among the other families. She grinned at the people around her. The Weasleys, Hermione, Ron, Sheila, Sean, Una, Seamus... 

Damn it! She was so happy she had once had the courage to try.

**5:****In the Schoolyard**

"Do I look all right?"

"You look fine. And anyhow, she has seen us already. I don't think there's a chance she'll believe we are respectable parents anymore."

"You are not taking this seriously!"

"Of course I am." She didn't think he was convincing and his next words proved her suspicion right: "Besides, he'll be going to the wizarding preschool next year, so it doesn't really matter how he copes here."

"It matters!" she snapped. "He can't just think that only the wizarding world matters! He has to get along with the Muggle children as well!"

"You know that's not what I meant," Charlie explained, clearly tired of the often-discussed topic. "But these reasons we are called here for...they are so..._trivial_ and petty. It's natural for kids to be a bit wild and do all kinds of pranks."

"Well, wizarding kids tend to do a lot more severe pranks than the Muggle ones. At least the Weasley kids. All of Will's cousins are used to playing with only other wizarding children, and he thinks he can play like that with these kids here. Don't you get it, Charlie: Muggle parents can't cope with their children jumping off the roofs or batting junior Bludgers at each other – _you_ can heal pretty serious damage just like that!," she snapped her fingers," and you have your levitation charms and all that. They don't. They have to be more careful!"

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "Come on, let's go hear how our son has been a danger to others this time." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice and she knew he believed they were unnecessarily torturing Will when keeping him in the Muggle school after he had shown his first signs of magic. She didn't like it herself that Will was seen as a troubled child when only behaving in a way that was totally expected and accepted in his other world. She sighed. She felt like betraying Will when forcing him to stay where he was so obviously different from the other kids.

 "Mrs. and Mr. Weasley," the young, blond teacher opening the door in front of them had a sweet, welcoming – and fake – smile on her heart-shaped face, "how nice that you could both come, this time. Please, come in." 

When they settled themselves on the chairs of the small office, Anna saw her eyeing Charlie warily and if she hadn't been so frustrated with the whole situation, she would have laughed aloud. It was very clear that despite her opposite words, Miss Treacle wasn't so keen to discuss Will's behaviour with the boy's broad-chested, muscular and cross-looking father.

"So?" Charlie asked bluntly and all of Anna's amusement disappeared. She knew he was irritated, maybe he even had the right to be, but being impolite and harsh with Will's teacher wasn't going to help the boy one bit. She forced a smile at Miss Treacle and saw a flash of fear in the younger woman's eyes. Suddenly Anna realized that her husband could be imagined to be quite a brute. In addition to his looks, which clearly spoke of hard work and outdoors, his ignorance of the finer things in the Muggle culture as well as Muggle education altogether, could make outsiders view him as a uneducated, unintelligent, maybe even cruel or violent man. Anna felt angry and sad at the same time. She knew Charlie; the warm, loving, intelligent and curious wizard that was her husband and the father of her son and daughter. Just imagining of someone thinking so wrongly of him made her disgusted, especially when he himself was only making the matters worse with his sulking and brooding.

"Well," Miss Treacle started cautiously, " we have discussed this before, but I really think Will would greatly benefit from some counseling. It is, of course, natural for small children to make things up, but William is already seven years old and it seems very hard for him to distinguish what is true and what only exists in his imagination." The woman smiled at the parents of his pupil in a way that was meant to be conspiratorial and understanding. "You certainly don't believe this, but just last Monday the boy insisted you worked with dragons, Mr. Weasley." She giggled a bit and her smile widened in relief as Charlie grinned back at her. The smile vanished, though, when he spoke:

"Well, Miss Treacle, Will wasn't really very far from truth, there. My work consists of training various animals for the movies and at the moment I_ am_, actually, working with some large lizards, affectionately called "dragons" in the trade." He smiled smugly, happy with himself and enjoying the teachers discomfort.

"Oh, well...I see..." the woman was fiddling with her bracelet now, and Anna saw she was wishing to be anywhere but in her office with these strange people. Determinedly, she raised her head, though, and attacked anew from a different angle:" Well, the other thing that has made us worried, is how Will is constantly getting into these fights with his peers..."

Anna let her words sail past her. She had heard them often enough, and nevermind how clever answers Charlie could come up with, it wouldn't really change the teacher's opinion on them.  She felt like a lousy parent. She knew the teachers here believed her and Charlie to be lousy parents. After all, when a child was _constantly telling lies_ and _getting into fights_ and was overly _accident prone_ and had _poor concentration skills_ their parents were usually the ones to blame. And it really wasn't an option to tell that the lies were actually true, the fights and the mishaps mainly caused by accidental bursts of wild magic, and the poor concentration mostly due to the fact that the boy was anxiously waiting to learn about dragons and other magical beasts and was therefore not so very interested in the Muggle biology.

An hour later, they excited the office and walked towards the front door in silence. There was nothing to be said and the past hour had tried their nerves enough, already. They hadn't made things better, either. Neither Anna's light aloofness or Charlie's determination to fight and win had made a good impression. As far as the personnel of the school was considered, they were still lousy parents. Anna was awoken from her gloomy thoughts by a very familiar, young voice:

"You don't know nothing! You are just stupid Muggles! You don't know!"

Her son was standing in the middle of the schoolyard, his fists up and his face tear stained. Around him were several other boys, clearly bullying him, but something about their postures told her they were also a little scared of him. They were cautiously standing a few paces away from Will and were packed tightly together as if for safety's sake.

"What was that, Weasley? You make up your own curse words now, too?"

"Like you make up everything else, you little liar."

"I'm no liar! You stupid Muggles!"

"William Weasley!" All the boys looked up when hearing Charlie's severe voice and the bullies quickly scattered, leaving Will and his parents alone. Charlie bent his knees and looked his son into the eyes.

"What were you saying to those boys, Will?"

"I'm sorry, Dad." The little boy's voice was quivering.

"And why are you sorry?" Charlie pressed on, not leaving the boy's gaze.

"Because...because...I can't say words like _Muggle_ to them. I can't tell about magic or the Ministry gets mad."

"Yes. That is one reason. The other reason is more important, though." Charlie was very serious. "You were using the word "Muggle" like it was something nasty. Mummy is a Muggle, Will. How do you think that made her feel?"

The boy raised her tear stained face towards Anna. His lower lip was trembling. "But...but you are not _really _a Muggle, are you Mum?"

Looking at her son's pleading eyes, Anna was remembering how she, feeling guilty for her thoughts, had secretly wished he would have been a Squib. How she now wished little Sophia wouldn't show any signs of magic. She felt horrible and guilty and most of all, she felt like betraying everything she believed in when thinking like that. When thinking that her children were somehow profoundly different from the Muggle kids, just because there were magical. When fearing that magic would take them away from her. When thinking she would rather keep them near her, same as her, and not let them experience the wonders of magic, only because she couldn't. She forced herself to answer her son:

"Yes, Will. Mum really is a Muggle. Just like those boys." She couldn't look at him when she said that. She was too afraid of what she might see on her son's easily readable face.

"Being Muggle doesn't make one stupid or mean. There are stupid wizards as well as there are nice Muggles." Charlie was saying all the right words, but for Anna, it was too late. _But you are not really a Muggle? _had her son asked and the question echoed in her mind now, repeating itself over and over again. She distantly heard he was sobbing and she wanted to comfort him, but she found herself frozen in her place.

"Come on, sport. We all make mistakes," Charlie was hugging Will now and the boy clung to him, desperately. "We are going to a Quidditch match tomorrow, didn't you remember? Isn't that a reason enough to smile a little, huh?"

"Is Mum coming, too?" Anna heard his question and she thought about all the strange wizards and witches who somehow always knew she was a Muggle; who would either keep their distance or over-enthusiastically try to "make her feel at home" or unnecessarily explain every wizarding aspect to her as if she hadn't lived with a wizard for a decade already. She didn't want to go. But she would, for Will. She was just about to open her mouth and say so, when Charlie spoke:

"No, Will, Mum really doesn't like Quidditch, you know." He smiled at his son, a little conspiratorial smile between two men that made the boy swell with pride and grin back at his father. Then the small redheaded wizard whispered to his father, with the same conspirative tone, the words that made his mother's heart break yet a little more:

_"Yeah, because Muggles don't like Quidditch, do they?"_

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a/n: There they were, the glimpses of the possible futures. Most of them were from Anna's point of view, for some reason... I would like to know did you find them possible, so please send me some feedback on this end of my little story.

I have some ideas for new fics; there are a couple of one-shots I'd like to write, and one longer tale that keeps bothering me. The one-shots should be up pretty soon, but the long one will take some research – none of you happens to know something about the British well-fare system? The unemployment benefits and the social services and so on? I'm pretty well educated in what comes to the Finnish system, but if the British one is anything like ours here, without an insider's view one gets absolutely no sense of it. **I hope you'll check out my future works, too, and if you'll like an e-mail when I post something, just say so.**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for your interest and support. I've had lots and lots of fun while writing it and great part of the fun comes from knowing some people are actually reading what I imagine up. Thank you! **Special thanks for those who have followed me and my story through from the very beginning: **snuggle the muggle, gabriel, Cinderella1 and x-woman1.**


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